


Smile

by tinkerbird



Series: All the Pretty Horses [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Time, High School, Insomnia, Jake being a good boyfriend, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Prom, a sad Dirk, but then everything gets happy, cute ships, cute teens, lots of feels, mentions of self harm, mom Karkat is the best Karkat, self destructive behavior, teacher Equius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkerbird/pseuds/tinkerbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you've survived much worse than high school. The memories of everything you went through as a kid still haunt you, even though you've tried to forget it using everything imaginable. But every time things get too hard to handle and you almost do something you'll regret, something always steps in and saves you from yourself. That something is Jake English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! OTP for all. Now have a sad birthday.

==> Be the guy on the floor.

Wait, are you on the floor? You look around. Shit, you actually are, aren’t you? Did you really fall asleep in the bathroom? Bravo, Strider. This is by far one of the single most pathetic things you’ve ever done, which is actually really saying something.

Whatever. At least it wasn’t under whatever context that the reader was probably imagining. No, you weren’t doing anything that one would normally do in the bathroom. No, you were not doing anything inappropriate. You had just finished having an internal struggle concerning things that shouldn’t be discussed for fear of coming off as more of a whiny little bitch than you probably have. And at some point during this histrionic battle of self-hating bullshit, you fell asleep. Mostly because you haven’t slept in a week.

The reason is not that you stayed up all those nights crying like the insufferable emo you totally are. No, the reason is that you stayed up all those nights trying to build something for your brother’s birthday. Which, by the way, is tomorrow... Today technically, you note, looking at the clock. And you haven’ t managed to come up with anything, and even though it’s probably fine with him, it still makes you question your self-given title of “best gift-giver ever”. Oh well. There’s no time now, so fuck it. You don’t care.

If Dave is any kind of brother at all, he’ll understand. You can’t help that you had a massive freakout last night over something that happened nine years ago. Or maybe you can. Nothing even happened to you, you weak little shit; it was just a flashback.Yet you had a panic attack on the floor of your bathroom at one in the morning over it. Nice.

You can’t control when they come, and you can’t get rid of them. You don’t even know what triggers them so you can avoid it. You just have to wait it through, and depending on what they’re about, it’s usually not so bad. Usually, you can deal with the ones about the beatings, mostly because you have a hard time remembering those early parts of your life anyway. But when you’re being forced to relive the pain and fear of being violated...you wake up on the floor of your bathroom wondering what the hell happened.

For the longest time, you wondered why it had to happen to you. You understood that everyone has to grow up sooner or later, but you found it more than a little unfair that you were forced to do it sooner than anyone else your age. About ten or eleven years sooner. Recently, though, you’ve come to the conclusion that, fair or not, you can’t change the past, and that you might as well stop wasting your time on thinking about it. You decided not to feel sorry for yourself, and it’s an easy task most of the time. It’s not like you’ve ever had an easy time feeling anything at all, let alone self pity.

Your phone goes off, and it startles you. One new message on your pesterchum app, with very familiar green text.

....

Your boyfriend is a fucking _prince_.

**GT: I dont know if youre still awake. But if you are... Happy birthday!**

Oh, right. It’s Dave’s birthday, and he’s your twin, which means it’s yours too. You had honestly forgotten. But Jake hadn’t. You half-smile, debating whether or not to reply. You worry that if you did, you’d keep him up longer. It was a school night, and Jake shouldn’t have to lose any sleep talking to you. But you send him a reply anyway.

**TT: Thanks. <3 **

If the Dirk from a few years ago saw you send anyone a text heart, he would strangle you in your sleep. However, you’ve long abandoned any fucks to give about whether or not you’re “cool” in front of Jake. He knows you better than to think you aren’t secretly a huge dork.

**GT: Haha! So you *are* awake after all! Once again my theory proved correct.**

**TT: Your theory, huh? Yeah, I’m still up. The question is, why are you?**

**GT: I wanted to wish you a happy birthday before anyone else.**

**TT: God, you’re precious.**

**TT: Seriously, though, you should go to sleep. It’s late.**

**GT: Only if you promise to do the same!**

**TT: Okay. I’ll try.**

**TT: Night, Jake.**

**GT: Sweet dreams!**

With that, you decide to make good on your promise and at least _try_ to get a few hours of much-needed sleep before school.

 

-

 

That fails, as expected. You end up lying awake in the dark for five hours until Karkat comes in and turns on the lights. You sigh, sitting up before he decides to flip your mattress like he did yesterday. 

Bro’s at work already, like always, so the two of you are alone... Actually, no you’re not. To your surprise, you find Jane and Roxy already downstairs. Usually, you walk to Jane’s house, and the two of you wait for Roxy to give you both a ride to school (if she isn’t drunk; that shit’s dangerous). But this morning’s different. 

Jane made you a cake, and Roxy decorated it. Probably a mistake, since it read “Hapy birtday Drik” in pink icing, but you appreciate the effort. You thank them awkwardly, since you never expect to be given things and really don’t know what to say when it happens. Other people would take this as insincerity. But they’re your best friends; they understand. You like what they did, you just... Really, really don’t know how that’s supposed to be expressed.

They know what happened to you, but not the details. Good. They never have to. They know that when you were all little, something went wrong. You were in the hospital for awhile, then they weren’t allowed to visit you for a longer while, and after that you were never really _normal_ again, but they don’t know why. Jake does, but he’s a different case. You decided very early on, even before you were together, that he was the only one you would tell about this. 

Jake took it a lot better than you expected him to, and you’re not quite sure if that’s good or bad. Especially since the way you broached the subject wasn’t exactly the dictionary’s definition of conventional. Oh well. It’s done now.

When you get to school, the three of you, like every morning, report directly to the Engineering room. Mr. Zahhak lets all the club members hang around in there before class starts, along with a few other assholes who sneak in because the door’s open. It’s much better than standing around in the break area.

Everyone else is already there, and by everyone, you don’t mean the whole Engineering club. No, because who gives a shit about those losers? By everyone, you mean your friends, the only ones who do any of the goddamned work anyway and who might as well be the entire club. Oh, and Dave. He’s included, even though the extent of his contributions to a project pretty much is just telling everyone else what to do. Well, he _does_ make posters... But they suck, so you don’t think it counts.

You and Jade do most of the technical stuff. Jake and John help, or try to, but the two of you usually don’t let them. It’s not that you don’t trust them, it’s just that... Well, it’s like you and Jade are both toddlers refusing to share your new toy with anyone else. So they respect that and do something else. John and Roxy quite literally _dominate_ the presentation portion of the annual Robotics competition, while Dave and Jane are almost always on booth duty. That leaves the research notebook to Rose, and surprisingly, she actually really likes doing it. That’s good, because every sane individual in your group hates the research bit with a _fiery, burning **passion** _.

Jake’s sort of the every-man. If he has a specific job, though, it’s to make sure that all the little rookies don’t ruin everything for everyone. He’s usually successful, but this year he has a challenge--Two, actually. They’re twins, freshmen, and they go by Cal and Callie. Callie’s the sister, and she’s an absolute sweetheart. She’s never given you or your group any trouble and has even become sort of the club’s little sister. Cal, on the other hand... You’re one-hundred percent convinced that the boy is from hell. He’s a spoiled brat, not too bright, and probably the worst all-around demon-spawn kid you’ve ever met. He also has an extremely obvious crush on you.

Despite that, you actually don’t mind him all that much. He gets on your nerves like crazy, but he’s actually pretty adorable sometimes. Maybe you’re just nice, but Cal’s a funny kid, and you’ve semi-voluntarily taken him under your wing. Also, because of his thing for you, Cal is insanely jealous of Jake English. Which is why you now have to go and rescue your man from being... You don’t know, bitten, or something else equally stupid.

Stupid is right. Cal is shoving some shittily drawn picture in Jake’s face, laughing as he tells Jake that it’s of you leaving Jake for him. Jake apologizes, saying that he honestly can’t tell what’s going on in the picture. Cal then calls him stupid and proceeds to point out every detail of the intended scene. Actually, no, you won’t step in. This shit’s hilarious to watch.

You start to feel like a bad boyfriend. But you promise yourself you’ll make it up to Jake later by sending Cal NSFW yaoi scenes and making him uncomfortable, as has been your usual mode of revenge on him for the past year. You start wondering which fandom it should be from this time and decide that it might as well not be from a fandom at all. Drawing people you both know always produces funnier reactions from him.

 

-

 

You’ve requested that everyone just sort of ignore your birthday now that they’ve gotten all the happy wishes and gift-giving out of their systems. It’s nice, and you’re not about to deny them the opportunity like some kind of horrible birthday Scrooge, but you’re not comfortable with anyone making a big deal out of you. 

It’s not like you deserve all this just because you’re now seventeen instead of sixteen. You aged one year. Big whoop, everyone does that. You haven’t done anything else even remotely impressive in your life. Sure, you draw. So does everyone else. It’s called ‘fanart’, Strider, look it up. Sure, you build robots in your spare time. So does Mr. Zahhak, and he’s better at it. He made a fucking horse. You made, like, one bunny and a half-functioning rap-bot, plus some requests you’ve taken over the years. And a shit-ton of unfinished projects... Why can’t you finish anything? 

You’re spiraling again. You sigh. 

Jake won’t let the birthday thing go. He keeps apologizing for it, too, because he knows you don’t like celebrating today. But he tells you you deserve it, just like he tells you you deserve a lot of things. You know he’s just making it up for you, and the fact that he’d lie just so you’d feel better makes you love him even more. It also makes you a little sad, because you know that it’s just a lie. The truth is that you _don’t_ deserve it. You don’t deserve anything. It’s just a lie, and it always will be. But you wish it weren’t. 

You think that deep down, you know you’re relatively tolerable as a person. You know that you’re okay, but that your past experiences have somehow affected you so much that even your self image is warped. If you step back and think about it, you should be a perfectly normal, happy, well-adjusted teen, but you aren’t. You can’t sleep, you can’t feel, you can’t do anything. You feel depressed and angry all the time and you don’t know why. You can’t even express it to anyone, because your emotions and social skills are all fucked up.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you are a fucking _wreck_.


	2. Nothing Short of an Army

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On an unrelated note, I have drawn Benedict Cumberbatch in horse form. My life is now complete.

==> Be Jake.

You’ll never stop worrying about him.

You remember when you first met Dirk Strider. It was at Jane’s birthday party, and you were in the second grade. He was a friend of Roxy’s, the child of one of your great-uncle’s colleagues. You remember how tiny he was, almost a full head shorter than you and much, much thinner. You remember how huge his eyes were, how his little face had been absolutely consumed with freckles (ones that he still kind of has), and how almost unnaturally long his eyelashes were. You remember how pretty you thought he was.

You immediately wanted to be his friend. Looking back, you may have wanted to be more, but you were too young to realize it then. In fact, you were too young to know that boys could even _be_ more than that, so you were very willing to settle on friends. You were positively _enamored_ with this strange, quiet freckled boy. You became very close very quickly.

You became Dirk’s hero, even after you broke your arm at the party, and he became your _favorite_. You were the best of friends after that. One could even go so far as to say you were inseparable. 

You remember the day that Jane and Dave spent the night at your house, the day everything changed for you and Dirk forever. You were excited that they got to come over, until you saw that Jane was crying and that Dave never left the security of your Grandma’s arms. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Jane’s dad and Dave’s bro were both busy helping the police find Dirk. They did, and the three of you suddenly became yourselves again. You celebrated by taking Dave’s glasses and hiding them, and Jane responded by informing you that this was _not_ something that was okay to do with friends. Soon the issue was resolved, and you all pretended you were the Ninja Turtles. You pretended to let Dave be Leonardo so that he’d feel better about the glasses thing, but you had really wanted to be Raphael anyway.

You and Dave soon demanded to see Dirk. Your grandma said no. She looked worried, and that made you worried. You asked if he died, hoping for a no. Grandma wouldn’t answer you, so you started to cry. She then gave you a tight hug and promised that everything would be just fine.

You never in a million years thought that your grandma would lie to you.

A few months passed. You were finally allowed to play with Dirk again, and you were excited. Grandma warned you that Dirk wasn’t feeling well and that he probably couldn’t play with you like he normally would. That was just fine with you. Sick or not, Dirk was your best friend ever, and you missed him a lot.

It breaks your heart every time you remember how awful he looked that first time. The room was deathly quiet, and Grandma and Dirk’s bro had warned you beforehand to try your best not to change that, if you could help it. You hadn’t understood why they told you that he “couldn’t handle” noise, or that he “wasn’t ready” to be around that many people, or to “be very, very nice to him”, but you did right that moment. Dirk looked so fragile, not at all like the Dirk you knew. You could see him shaking from across the room. Mr. Bro told you that it was okay for you to go and sit beside him as long as you did it very slowly, and so you did.

Every protective instinct you had let you know that you were going to make him feel better, no matter what. You didn’t understand yet what had happened, but you were determined to make everything right. You curled up beside Dirk, and to your surprise, he clung to you like a life raft. You gently petted his hair like what Grandma always did when you were sick and asked him what game he wanted to play. He shook his head, and Mr. Bro told you that he didn’t feel like playing right then. You nodded understandingly and cuddled Dirk some more. Mr. Karkat put on a movie for the two of you to watch.

Eventually, the adults left you alone, and the two of you began conversing almost like normal. You did most of the talking, as Dirk couldn’t seem to say much. When he did, the words came quietly, with a very slight stutter and too many hesitant pauses. This stressed him out, embarrassing him and almost making him cry once, so you didn’t make him talk again.

One time, though, you couldn’t help yourself. You asked him what was wrong. 

“I’m...different,” Dirk replied quietly, as if the words were physically hurting him.

“I know,” you told him, tilting your head in confusion. “But what makes you different?”

That question seemed to make him very, very upset. Dirk began trembling again, and he called for his bro. You had to leave the room for awhile, and you were afraid you’d have to go home. But after several minutes, you were allowed to go back in, and the rest of the afternoon went without incident.

In the eighth grade, Dirk began wearing a pair of horrendously pointy shades, like the ones Dave used to wear before he abandoned his in favor of some John gave him. Dirk even wears them inside at school, like Dave, but unlike Dave doesn’t have eye problems that would give a legitimate reason to do so. He got written permission from a doctor though. 

You later find out that the “doctor” is a friend of Mr. Bro and Mr. Karkat, and that he’s not even a real doctor, he’s a bloody veterinarian. It fooled the school office, though. Apparently wearing silly sunglasses is some Strider family tradition, and you’re surprised that no one’s gotten Mr. Karkat to wear them yet, as he now legally counts as a Strider. Dirk also confides in you later that he’s afraid of direct eye contact, and the shades keep him from being called out on not looking anyone in the eye.

Over the years, you’ve made damned sure to keep him safe and as happy as possible. You know that no matter how tough Dirk Strider may try to act on the outside, on the inside, he’s still just that tiny, terrified little boy that was shaking in your arms, unable to get out of bed. He needs you, as much as you wish he didn’t. You love being needed, but... you feel as though Dirk of all people is above relying on someone like you. He’s worth more, especially since you know that you’ll never be able to give him everything he needs.

You can’t deny that you’ve always had a thing for him, but you were always too busy taking care of him to stop and think about the nature of your relationship. Just friends had always been good enough, as long as Dirk was all right.

That changed one night at a party Roxy talked you all into going to in tenth grade. Things were going rather nicely....until you notice that Dirk had disappeared into the crowd. You aren’t the possessive type by any means, but you do like to keep an eye on him at times like those. And usually you wouldn’t have cared much, but something went off in your mind this time, like a “spidey sense”... A “Stridey sense”, perhaps? Anyway, you started looking for Dirk.

You found him almost naked under some guy you’d never seen before.

You were torn between “Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to intrude” and “Get your clothes, we’re getting the fuck out of here”, but you saw that Dirk was very obviously out of it and quickly chose the latter. You were glad that you did, because apparently someone had spiked his drink with something. You put your jacket around him, leading him to the door and absconding like your ass was aflame. 

Dirk was unusually “touchy”, and you twice had to remove his hand from your crotch, reminding yourself that this was just the drugs. God, he was high; he could barely stand up.

“I’m taking you home,” you told him, gently but firmly.

“Go with me?” Dirk asked, his speech slurred.

“Of course. I’m not going to leave y... I say, Strider, what are you doing?!”

He was straddling your lap in a very suggestive manner, arms thrown around your neck. You wondered briefly whether to push him off in shock or get an erection, before his lips met yours in the single most passionate kiss of your life.

You didn’t even pull away. You kissed back with full vigor, at that point not caring that he was higher than a kite. That was when you truly realized what you’d been holding back for years: you’re in love with Dirk Strider.

It wasn’t until he started grinding on your groin that you pushed him off. Gently, but pushed all the same. You shook your head.

“Not yet,” you told him, kissing his lips lightly. 

“Why?” Dirk asked with a frown.

You let out a slight, nervous laugh. “A first time is an important thing. Too important to be rushed into.”

“No it’s not,” he argued. “Not for me, anyway...” You sensed some bitterness in his voice, and you didn’t know why.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Dirk then did something you didn’t expect. 

He pressed his face into your chest and started shaking. This was made even more alarming by the fact that shaking is like Dirk’s version of crying.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concerned.

“L-let’s not talk about this anymore,” he pleaded softly, sounding much too similar to the little boy in the bed for your liking.

“Dirk.” You rubbed his back gently.

“I love you,” Dirk announced suddenly. “I love you and I want you and I’ve _never wanted it before and I never got the choice before and_ \--”

“Shh.” You stroked his hair, quieting him. You still didn’t quite believe that this was even the real Dirk speaking, even though you wished from the very bottom of your heart that it was. “I love you too. Now let’s get you home.”

He fell asleep.

The next day, Dirk apologized to you for his behavior and thanked you for keeping him out of trouble. You told him that you were just glad he was okay. 

“I don’t take it back,” Dirk said, looking at the floor. “About telling you I loved you. I meant that.”

You were in shock, but you smiled, kissing him in relief. “I did too.”

That was the start of a very beautiful relationship.

Very recently, though, what he said that night started bothering you. About “not getting the choice” of sleeping with someone, and about how his first time wasn’t important to him. You understood that it was probably nothing and that you were probably just being paranoid. But those words got to you somehow.

You asked him via pesterchum, because for some reason you couldn’t get the nerve to do so in person. That bad feeling you always get when something’s happened to Dirk was nagging at you, telling you that it was in some way related to that incident in elementary school.

It was. Dirk took ages to replay, and when he did, it was as if you had knocked open a floodgate of emotions. He told you everything, every painful, hidden detail of his past, and even though just looking at the orange text broke your heart, you never once looked away. You never asked him to stop, even when you wanted him to. Even though the words were making you physically ill, you knew that Dirk needed to tell you. It would probably make him feel better, you thought, so you never interrupted him. He deserved to be heard.

Dirk deserves a lot of things, you’ve decided. A lot of things that, sadly, no one can give him. You know that he doesn’t believe you when you tell him the truth: that he’s worthy of happiness. But you don’t mind. You’ll be patient, gradually helping him get better until he’s right as rain, like you swore you’d do all those years ago. 

That’s why you stay up all night just to wish him a happy birthday on the exact hour that he was born.

Dirk won’t let anyone do that much for him today; he hasn’t much celebrated his birthday in years. But the girls made him a cake, the cute little Callie girl from your Robotics team drew him a card, and you’ll let those three out-do Jake English on the day it snows in August. And since you all live in a warm state, that will be _never_. You don’t let go of Dirk’s hand all day, unless you’re in class. You also know that he shares a locker with Dave, so you have the hour-younger Strider put something in there for you. You just hope it works.

It does. But not in the way you’d imagined.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“There’s a nice-looking notebook in my locker with a note attached that reads ‘hey loser this shits for you man, from lieutenant booty shorts not me’ in red ink.”

“Oh. That would be your brother’s handiwork,” you explain, mentally face-palming. You should’ve never trusted Dave with this if you intended for it to be romantic. And you do _not_ wear booty shorts, for the last time.

“I know.” Dirk shrugs. “It’s his handwriting, and Dave’s also the only asshole I know that only writes in red. I’m just confused, because I _specifically_ told you not to get me anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”   
You shrug.

“A shrug’s not a real answer, booty-shorts.” A rare smirk.

You smile, pulling him into a hug. “That’s _Lieutenant_ Booty-shorts to you.”

“Is it now?” Dirk lightly presses his lips to yours. “Seriously. You didn’t have to--”

“I wanted to,” you interrupt. “Because I love you.”

You know that he doesn’t believe you, and it hurts sometimes to think about. But it’s all right. It’s fine because you’re determined to make him realize it one day. And nothing short of an army can stop you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took too long because I was busy drawing little baby Dirks. Am I sorry? Nope.


	3. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got my freaking Heart shirt so that I can cosplay genderswap!Meulin on the last day of school. Aw yeah. 
> 
> I also just realized that, as I have friends that cosplay Nepeta and Meulin, and as we could probably find a genderswap!Nepeta, WE COULD HAVE DOUBLE LEIJONS ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE SKY. So intense.

==> Be Dirk.

 

You have lunch with only a handful of your friends, because this isn’t a high school drama, and that shit happens in real life. Friends get separated sometimes. At your table, there’s you, Jake, Rose, Dave, and Callie. Everyone else has the other lunch period, and you’re content with that for mostly three reasons: A, Dave and John are sort of obnoxiously couple-y when they’re together (you sincerely hope you and Jake don’t come off like that), B, Cal and Callie aren’t trying to kill each other, and C, all of the above. You also can’t say that you particularly _dislike_ sitting with your cute boyfriend.

The daily schedule of mid-day events goes as follows: Dave blathers on about something stupid, Rose sasses him out for it, they argue, Callie ignores them in favor of being hopelessly kawaii, and you and Jake just sort of watch the show and hold hands under the table. It’s great.

Rose is pretty cool. The two of you aren’t terribly close, but she’s just so snarky and full of wise advice and intellectual quips that you can’t _not_ love her. Rose is basically what would happen if someone combined Yoda, Raven, and Hermione Granger into one tiny, goth lesbian. It’s a legit wicked mix.

“So, Dave. Would you care to again tell us about the time that you found your parental guardian on a less-than-platonic, randomly-generated chat role play site?”

“Hey, shut up.”

“We’re all very interested. In fact, I believe that one or two of us may have indeed missed the story the first time.”

“Nope, not telling you. I’m still pretending it never happened.”

“Oh, come now. Avoidance is rarely the solution to anything, Dave.”

“Nope. Nope, nope, _nope_.”

“Don’t be that way.”

“Nopes into space and around jupiter, traveling the universe with one nope-powered field of pure nope.”

“That, Dave, was a very unnecessarily long description.”

“That, Rose, was the sound of no fucks given.”

“....Does John know about your somewhat obsessive oedipal tendencies?”

“I am so down-turned fork done with this conversation.”

 

-

 

When you get home, you find new orange Crush in the fridge. Hell yes. Your old-as-the-hills cat Spike has taken his usual place on the counter, rolling onto his back and purring demanding attention.

“Get off the counter, cat.” You wave a hand at Spike, shooing him.

The tabby meows at you, as if to say, “I do what I want”, and you pick him up so that Bro won’t throw him outside for leaving fur in the kitchen.

You take Spike and curl up on the couch, making sure to take your shoes off beforehand so that Karkat won’t bitch at you. You know that he won’t bitch much, but he’s kind of your mom, and you’ve decided that you don’t like upsetting him. You inwardly call yourself a ‘mama’s boy’, but shrug it off. It’s not like caring about the person who raised you from childhood makes you any less of a man. 

Bro’s still your _Bro_ , and you’ve pretty much idolized him since you were six, but there’s just something special between you and Karkat. It’s probably because you’ve spent more time with him because of Bro’s work. But no matter what the reason, Karkat’s like your mom, and you’re pretty much his precious little baby or something like that. It shows, too, given how protective he is of you.

Despite the overall shitty feelings that encompass most of your life like a dark cloud, your actual life itself isn’t that bad. Your friends are amazing. You have Jake, a.k.a. the _best_ boyfriend ever, even if he sometimes gets so caught up in his own life that he sometimes accidentally ignores you. He doesn’t even mind that you’re hopelessly needy and pathetically insecure. He doesn’t mind a lot of things, you think, and you’re more than grateful he’s put up with you for so long. 

You have a decently-sized family that cares about you and would more than likely kill to keep you safe. You have Bro and Karkat (basically the best guardians anyone could ever ask for), Dave, Dave’s bro, Kankri and Cronus, Kanaya and Roxy’s mom, Aunt Porrim (although she rarely makes an appearance at your house; Karkat gets really pissed whenever she starts mothering you, because that’s _his_ job)... You guess Eridan and Sollux count, too, since they’re your godparents. You think that with a shudder, realizing that if anything had happened to Bro and Karkat when you were small, those people would have actually been responsible for keeping you alive. Goddamn... What a close call.

You start to think about them. About when you, Jake, and Roxy tried to make Jane cupcakes to cheer her up after a bad week and failed tragically. About the time Jane forgot that you have insane sleep reflexes and thought it would be a good idea to play a prank on you at a slumber party and almost got kicked the face (you still feel bad about it, but she forgives you). In seventh grade, when you thought John was cute briefly before remembering that he is a jackass and that you should probably just stay friends. That time you all went to the beach, and Jane’s grandfather got you all ice cream, and a very frustrated Kanaya later bitched at him for it, because she had to deal with a house full of sugar-crazed eight year olds.

You remember when Bro let you stay up late once when you were very little, just so you could watch a movie with him and Karkat. You remember feeling so grown-up and so damned pleased with yourself. You remember sitting in Bro’s lap in his study while he wrote, then getting tired and falling asleep. You remember when you and Karkat finally managed to make half-edible cookies for once, even though Bro still insisted that they were toxic. The two of you made him eat them anyway.

You think about when Dave’s bro taught you and Dave about swords, and how much better you were at using them. You had been eleven when Karkat finally let you strife with Dave, and you remember feeling the proudest you’ve ever felt when you handed his ass to him, even though Dave had been doing it longer. That was when Bro got you your first katana.

You remember the time you and Jake stole Eridan’s scarf and put it on your cat. Eridan was not amused. Sollux ended up having to get it back for him, because little did the two of you know, Eridan’s terrified of cats. You remember your first meeting with Cronus, how pissed you were that he messed up your hair and had the nerve to call you “cute” when you were a nine-year-old boy, and Kankri’s exasperated demands that his partner stop triggering children. You were indeed _very_ triggered, but Cronus eventually made up for it. You remember meeting Rose, and how long her hair was in sixth grade, and how she let you feed her pony. 

And it’s there on the couch with your cat, lost in the memories of people who you care about, and who care about you, that you let yourself fall asleep for the first time in weeks.


	4. Seven Years Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor babby.

You are seven years old. 

You wake up in a very bright place, sore in places you shouldn’t be sore in, and you’re dizzy. You have no idea where you are, or where Bro is, and you’re feeling terrified and lonely. You don’t like it. You don’t like it at all. So you start to cry.

A hand tightens around your own while its partner moves to rub against your cheek soothingly. The hands feel familiar, and you look up to see who they belong to. That’s when you see that Bro has been there with you all along, and that it was dumb to be afraid in the first place, because you’re safe. Bro has you. Everything’s okay.

His shades are missing, and that worries you. Bro doesn’t even take them off at home most of the time. He looks so tired and sad, and his voice is filled with an emotion that you can’t really name but that you’ve never heard from Bro before. Sorrow. Worry. Something else, though, but you can’t quite pin down exactly what it is.

Then it occurs to you: Bro feels guilty. You don’t know why, but he does. Certainly it has nothing to do with you; after all, Bro would never do anything to harm you. He promised. If there’s anything you know, it’s that Bro’s not the reason everything hurts.

Like a flash, you remember what _did_ cause this. You don’t understand what happened, not yet, but you understand the pain. You understand that it hurt, and that it felt wrong, and that you bled a lot, and that you wanted Bro. You were one-hundred percent sure that you were dying, and then you heard Karkat from behind the wall. And for some reason, instead of making you feel better, that scared you even more. You somehow felt as though if he knew what had happened, you’d be in trouble. Because you had done something wrong, you were _sure of it_. After all, that’s what _he_ kept saying. That you’d been bad and that you were a mouthy brat and that you needed to be made to shut up.

So shut up you did. You’re still silent. You’re doing a good job, you think. You don’t even say anything to Bro, hoping that maybe he’ll be proud of you for being so quiet, but he’s not. You can tell that it scares him, because of how his breath hitches and he has to rub at his eyes whenever you don’t answer him, like he’s holding back tears. You start to cry. You really thought you were doing a good job...

“Shh, hey, no, no, no, don’t cry...” Bro pets you, and that makes you feel a little better. Bro always makes you feel better. “It’s okay, I promise... You’re okay... You’re _safe_ now....”

You feel safe around Bro, and with Karkat. He’s not mad at you like you were sure he’d be, just really sad, like Bro is. Sometimes Karkat lies down in your bed with you and holds you, and you really like it. That helps you fall asleep. 

You don’t like it when they have to leave. You get scared again. You cry, and tremble, and grip at the sheets, but you don’t beg them to stay like you want to. You can’t. So your eyes do it for you. 

Bro stares back at you, hesitating, as if he’s debating on whether to stay or not. Karkat’s eyes fill with tears and he starts to come back to you, but Eridan grabs his wrist, stopping him. He says something that you can’t really make out, and Karkat slumps, defeated, and leaves with him and Bro. You’re mad at Eridan for taking them away, but you can’t do anything about it. Everything hurts too much.

A tall man with glasses comes in and sits with you, and you’re afraid of him. He’s a stranger to you; you’ve grown to fear strangers, with good reason. Upon closer inspection, you can tell that he has one brown eye and one blue, the asymmetry of them distracting you for a moment, only to release your attention once the panic sets in. You are alone with a strange man. Bro isn’t here. You can’t even call for him if something goes wrong.

You cry.

“Hey, don’t cry,” the man tells you. You can easily hear the nervousness in his voice, and that’s when you see that this stranger’s just as terrified as you. “Uh... It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You nod, but you’re only half-convinced.

“You’re KK’s kid, right?” You nod. “I’m Sollux. His best friend.” You can’t help but notice a hint of a lisp. Very faint, but still there. “I’m supposed to stay with you while your... parents, I guess? While they go home and sleep. Okay?”

You give Sollux your very saddest pout. You want them to come back.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” He sighs. “Look, I’ve never been around kids before. Honestly? They scare the shit out of me. But KK’s my friend, and you mean a lot to him. So... Help me out here?”

You say nothing and stare at the ceiling, nodding slightly. At least he’s not a complete stranger. But you still miss Bro and Karkat, and you’re not about to relax or go to sleep until they come back. 

Sollux lets you play Fruit Ninja on his phone. You’ve decided that you’ve made a new friend. 

Eventually, Eridan comes and sits on the ledge of your room’s window. You’re still mad at him, and you let him know by giving the nastiest glare anyone with your currently adorable features can manage. But he’s brought you an entire bag full of candy and orange juice, so you forgive him... For now.

Meenah joins you. She and Eridan seem to know each other, because he gives her a bitter glance and says “ _You_ ” in a horrified tone, and she laughs and calls him something Bro wouldn’t want you repeating. Sollux tells you that Eridan’s best friend is Meenah’s half sister, and that they were practically family growing up. You’d consider the strangeness of this coincidence, but you’re too busy trying to figure out how someone can have a “half” sister. Was she a cyborg? 

Hey, despite everything that’s happened, you’re still only seven.

You don’t like the noise they’re making. Sollux can tell, and he tries to distract you by talking to you. He tells you about his job, casually relating stories about hacking into the most guarded databases in the world, sometimes for fun, as if it were something anyone could do. You think it’s awesome, and you want to say so, but you can’t. He tells you about his family, about how his brother used to be a pro skater before he took a bad fall and got “all fucked up in the head”. Sollux says he’s fine now, though; his wife takes care of him. She writes video games for a company in Atlanta.

Yes, you’ve definitely made a new friend. Sollux and his family are both really, really cool.

Meenah tells you stories, too. She tells you that her mom and Eridan’s dad were best friends, and that they worked together. Meenah, her sister, Eridan, and Eridan’s brother all grew up near the beach, in really nice houses, and their families were both rich. Meenah’s sister is trying to become a marine biologist. She works at the aquarium. You find out that Eridan’s dad wants him to be a doctor, but that Eridan really doesn’t want to. He wants to write. And for once, instead of saying something like “that’s bullshit” or “not gonna happen”, Sollux tells you that Eridan’s actually really good.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you wake up in Bro’s arms. He smiles at you and tells you he missed you. You go to sleep again.

A week later, or maybe two, you get to go home. Everything still hurts, and all you ever want to do is sleep, and you’re scared all the time. Even when Bro has you. You don’t know why, but there’s a constant, paralyzing fear in the pit of your chest, no matter how many times you try to reassure yourself. It won’t go away.

You’re always sad now. You don’t know why this happens, either. You don’t cry, though, because you’re scared of getting in trouble. Your old dad always yelled at you when you cried, and the other man hurt you more when you cried, so you think that crying is something bad to do, like talking, so you don’t. But sometimes you just get so overwhelmed that you can’t help it. You feel so scared, and sad, and hurt that you just _cry_ , but not for very long. You don’t need to for more than a few seconds at a time, then it’s out of your system.

Sometimes you cry when you need Bro. It always works; he picks you up and holds you until he finds out what’s wrong, and he always fixes it if he can. If he can’t, he pets your hair and apologizes and _holds_ you, and you think that’s just as good. Sometimes, you cry when you get scared, just so he’ll hold you. You like it, because it makes you feel better, but you _hate_ it because it makes you feel like a baby. And you’re not a baby. You’ll be in third grade in September.

You don’t like the medicine you have to take. It makes you tired and sick, and you swear that it even made you hallucinate once. But it makes everything stop hurting for awhile, and you don’t want to make Bro angry, so you take it without complaint. 

Karkat wants you to talk. You can tell that your silence upsets him, so even though you’re afraid, you try your best to speak for him. You hate your voice now. It’s so quiet and stuttering and hesitant and you _hate it_... But talking makes Karkat happy, so you do it. At least you don’t have to cry to get Bro’s attention anymore.

You don’t know why this had to happen to you. You don’t know why anyone hurt you. The only conclusion that you can come to is that something is wrong with you. Maybe you’re bad. Maybe you’re ugly. Maybe you talk too much. Maybe you’re stupid. Maybe all of the above. You decide that you don’t like yourself anymore. You want to go away. You don’t want to exist anymore.

You’re too young for this.

You ask Bro why it hurts. His face turns white, like the question scared him, and you quickly apologize. Bro squeezes your hand gently and shakes his head. He tells you that you have the right to know.

He asks you if you understand what happened, and you shake your head. There’s a long, heavy silence in the room before Bro speaks again. He holds your hand, rubbing soft, gentle circles into the back of it with his thumb, and he tells you what sex is. Nothing too specific, just barely more than the definition. That it’s supposed to be reserved for whoever you fall in love with, but that sometimes it doesn’t always work out that way, and that those times are very, very sad. You don’t like where this is going. Almost scared of the answer, you ask what this has to do with you, and Bro looks like you just broke his heart. There’s another pause.

“You had something...really important...taken away. And...” Bro looks like he’s in physical pain just from saying these words. “And you can’t get it back.”

You’re scared. “W-why not?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. It doesn’t work that way. You’re... You’re different now, and I don’t know how else to-- Hey, don’t cry... I take that back, okay? I didn’t mean it. You’re not different, just... Special. You’re special. It’s just like... Like when people get in accidents and lose their arms. You’re the same. You just... You’re okay, Dirk, everything’s gonna be the same, I _promise_.” Bro pulls you into his arms, and you cry into his shirt.

“I d-don’t w-want to be different...” you tell him quietly. 

“Shh, I know... But it’s not like that, okay? You don’t even have to think about it anymore.” He sighs again. “Maybe... Maybe we should’ve saved this talk for when you’re older. Forget I ever said that, all right? You’re _fine_ , nothing’s changed.”

“Bro?” Your voice sounds small, a lot smaller than it used to. “Can I... Can I still p-play with my friends?” You’re terrified that being ‘different’ means that you’re not allowed with other kids, or worse, that they won’t want to be your friend anymore.

Bro hugs you. “Sure, kid. They can come over whenever you want.”

“...Tomorrow?”

“You sure?” You nod. “Just one of them for now, okay? You were up all night last night, _and_ you’ve been sick. I don’t want a big crowd wearing you out.” You nod again. You don’t want all of them, anyway. Just one. Your best friend.

“...Jake?”

“Of course.”

Bro seems so proud of you for wanting to see other people that you don’t mention to him how nervous you are for tomorrow. What if Jake doesn’t like you anymore? What if he gets mad at you if you don’t want to play? You’re just so sad and tired all the time that you don’t want to move much, and it’s not Jake’s fault, but you don’t want to go outside like the two of you always do. What if he gets bored and wants to go home right after he gets there? You don’t want Jake to leave. You couldn’t handle it if he left...

You start hurting again at night. You’re sore, because the medicine doesn’t always help enough, but you don’t wake Bro or Karkat. You’re scared that if they find out, they won’t let Jake come over in the morning. So you keep it to yourself. Bro wakes up anyway, because you’re on his chest, shaking, and he stays up with you until you fall asleep.

He lets Jake come over anyway.

Karkat gives you a bath in the morning, like always. You hate it. You’re not a baby, but you feel like one, especially now that you’re too weak and tired and depressed to even bathe yourself, even though you’re in second grade. You can write in cursive. You should be able to keep yourself clean without help.

You really, really don’t like yourself. But when Jake comes over, and smiles at you with his cute big teeth and his pretty eyes, and he lets your ugly, useless self take a nap in his arms even though you know for a fact Jake hates naps, you feel a lot better somehow. Jake always makes you feel better. He calls you pretty, and he doesn’t mind when you get upset over stupid, small things, and he _calls you **pretty** _...

You really, really _do_ like Jake.

No, no. You _love_ Jake. He’s your boyfriend. 

He is?

Oh. Right.

You’re still on your couch. That was all just a dream. And you just managed to sleep for eight hours for what was probably the first time in months.


	5. Insufferable Prick Chapter

==> Be Dave... The uh, the miniature one.

You’re not the “miniature” anything. You stand at a totally respectable 5 foot 9. It’s not your fault you just so happen to be the younger of two dudes with the same name in your family. Can’t you just be, like, “Dave Junior” or something? Or what about “Dave Two: Revenge of the Awesome Shades”? Then you could even have some kind of badass slogan, like “This time, it’s _personal_ ”.

Anyway, you’ll come up with a way of differentiating yourself from other Dave later. Right now, you’re too busy being the best goddamned artist in the history of ever. You’re at a club meeting, making posters for your booth that would make God cry from the beauty of them. Or you would be, if your twin wasn’t such a dick about everything.

“These posters suck.”

“What, no. I spent, like, an hour making that one.”

“You spent five minutes, you ass. Go do it again.”

Fucking perfectionist. “Your mom can go do it again.” You’re usually a lot more creative with your insults, but Dirk’s a different case. He’s just going to turn whatever you say back on you because he thinks he’s some kind of genius. And probably is.

Dirk raises an eyebrow at you. “What. No, Dave, I mean it. ‘What’, as in a statement, not a question. Because I am literally that shocked about how little sense your comeback made.”

“I meant Karkat. He’s your mom, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. But he’s not going to come and do it for you, so it still makes _no sense at all_. Get back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And erase all those cocks you drew everywhere. If a teacher sees that, you’ll get written up.”

You smirk, about to make a very obvious joke. “What? I haven’t drawn any roosters.” A nearby Jade almost falls over.

Dirk gives you his weird little barely-there grin and half-snort combo, which is mopey twin for ‘internally dying of laughter’, and that means you won. You did good. Maybe you’ll even ask your aderpable boyfriend to give you a victory kiss.

 

-

 

“Bluh, math.”

“Shut up, Dave.”

“ _Bluh, math_ ,” you say louder. 

“Stop saying ‘bluh, math’.” Dirk rolls his eyes. Actually, you can’t really see his eyes right now. But you can feel it. You can _taste_ it. You sense the _presence_ of rolled eyes. So you pass him a note (read: “balled up a note and threw it at the back of his head with all your might”). 

He reads it aloud. “.... Bluh, ma-- _Dave_!” And then it happens. Holy fuck. You actually get a smile. It’s an amused, ‘Wow-what-a-fucking-idiot’ smile, but it’s a smile all the same. And you will stare at it like it’s a goddamned priceless painting until it’s engraved in your memory forever, because a Dirk-smile is a rare, elusive thing. To you, it’s like seeing a unicorn or some shit. It’s awesome.

“Why the fuck are you staring at me?” And he noticed. Okay, time to escape.

“Hey, guess what?”

“No.”

“Guess,” you insist, leaning back in your desk.

“Never. I will _never_ guess.” 

“Did you know?”

“If I say ‘know what’, and you counter with ‘chicken butt’, so help me, God, I will piss in your apple juice.” And you get another half-smile. Goddamn, it’s like you’re winning Dirk-smile bingo today or something.

“Did you know that your name’s only a few letters away from being ‘Dick Rider’?”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m gonna start calling you that.”

“Do it,” he jokes. “Wait, holy fuck. I’m changing my tumblr url to that.”

“Oh god, please do.”

Dirk shrugs. “I like mine, though.”

“Oh, what, ‘super-highschool-level-bishie’?” You laugh.

“Hey, that’s better than... whatever yours is this week.”

“It’s still ‘john-egberts-fine-ass’.”

“Does he mind that his name is being used to terrorize people on the internet?”

“He’s the one that came up with it.”

“Tell John that I love him.”

“Never.” 

 

-

 

You’ve always had a very interesting relationship with your brother. You spent most of your lives in separate houses, so you certainly didn’t feel like siblings, but you still grew up together. So you’ve always felt more like cousins or something. Anyway, regardless of what the nature of your relationship with Dirk is, it’s a close one. You aren’t the fucking Winchesters, but you still know each other better than most best friends. And aside from your semi-regular strifes, you hardly ever fight, which is more than one could say about the average set of American twins.

You’re not identical, but that doesn’t stop you from looking almost exactly the same. If it weren’t for your respective eye colors and the fact that Dirk has much longer and more complicated hair than yourself, you could probably trade places for a week and not even your guardians would notice. It’d be like freaking _Parent Trap_ all up in this bitch, except neither of you are Lindsay Lohan. You probably couldn’t pull it off, though; there’s no way Dirk could ever manage to be as hilarious and awesome as you, and you could never achieve the same Eeyore-like level of moody that he so flawlessly has.

You never found out what fucked Dirk up so badly, but you think it was a combination of things. Your early family life less than picturesque, you were orphaned for awhile, and then there was that time in grade school when he was in the hospital. Rose told you it could even be an actual, like, _legit_ condition that he has. Some kind of chemical imbalance that makes him so depressed. Or it could be that _and_ the others, adding up to one big avalanche of gloominess... Actually, that would explain a lot.

Oh well. You don’t know what made your brother the way he is, only that you’re pretty goddamned talented at helping, if you do say so yourself. And you do. Sure, what you accomplish by annoying the hell out of Dirk might be temporary, but that just means you have to work harder to cheer him up more often. 

It’s not like you’re some special snowflake, a hero with the lone responsibility of bringing joy to a dorky weaboo, either. Other people can successfully manage to turn that infamous frown upside-down, if only for a few seconds. And by other people, you mostly mean your friends. Yeah, with your combined efforts, it won’t be long before the unicorn that is a Dirk Strider smile will be as common as a house spider. And you’ve killed, like, three of those today alone.

Your work isn’t done, but it’s getting there. You’re just getting impatient for the final result.


	6. Mommy's Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon for this AU: Karkat driving a mom van.

= => Be Dirk’s mom.

You are _not_ Dirk’s mom, or anyone’s mom, for that matter. Men can’t be moms, the last you checked, and you haven’t given birth to anything. You think you would remember if you had.

Dirk’s asleep on the couch. You frown, not because the sight isn’t sweet and endearing, but because the cute little fucker will freeze to death and/or catch some horrible disease in his current state. The boy not only has on no socks, but he’s also dressed in only a thin t-shirt and some boxers. You’ve told him a million times that it’s too cold for that shit this time of year, but he refuses to listen.

All right, damn it. Maybe you _are_ his mom. You don’t mind. It’s not like you haven’t been babying him since he was seven anyway… You sigh, covering him up with a blanket. You debate on whether or not you should wake him, and you decide against it. Dirk just looks so tired. All the time, actually… You wonder if he’s getting enough sleep.

The poor kid’s been through a lot. You remember, with a wince, holding his tiny hand in an ambulance, the day his innocence was taken from him. You remember waiting for what seemed like for hours just to see if he’d survive all the physical trauma. You remember the guilt you felt, knowing that all of it was your fault.

If only Dirk hadn’t gone with you. If only you’d left him with someone for the day. If only you’d just taken him to the goddamned park… You know that you can’t think that way. Those men had probably been tracking you for a long time; they would’ve gotten to you somehow. In a way, it was just good that no one else was dragged into it.

You remember the first time you saw Dirk awake afterwards. He looked so tiny and pathetic, all you ever wanted to do for the rest of time was hold him. So hold him you did. Dave said that you were able to lull the kid to sleep for the first time since he woke up. At least you were helping _somehow._

You felt so bad for Dirk, especially that first week. You kept bringing him things, toys he wouldn’t play with and junk food he couldn’t eat, until you eventually cumulated a king-sized nest of presents you knew you’d end up struggling to move to the car at some point. You just felt so horrible about everything. When Dirk cried because something hurt, you cried with him. When he had a panic attack (which, sadly, was very often, especially in the first few days), you could do nothing but hold your breath until it stopped. You’d never felt more useless.

You held Dirk on the ride home from the hospital. Just wrapped him up in a small, fluffy blanket, and held him, while Dave kept reminding him where you were headed in a soft, comforting tone. Some of your family and friends had been waiting for you in your living room. Dirk didn’t like it at all. He peeked up from the edge of the blanket once, before turning around in your arms and trembling. You took him straight to bed.

Everything was horrible from then on, for several months. Poor baby… He was always so sick. He couldn’t even tell you what was wrong, either, because he wouldn’t speak. He just cried when he needed attention… It was like having a newborn.

One morning, as soon as you woke up, you couldn’t find Dirk. He wasn’t in bed, where he should have been, and you were terrified. What if someone had taken him again? You began to panic… But then you heard the muffled sobs coming from the bathroom.

Dirk was sitting in the middle of the bathtub, his tiny arms hugging his knees close to his chest, trembling with all his might. You had no idea how long he’d been left alone there, waiting for someone to help him. You sat beside the tub, running a hand through his hair gently.

“You should’ve just gotten me if you wanted a bath,” you told him quietly. He said nothing. “How long were you in here?”

“L-long time…”

Poor baby… “I’ll give you a bath. But then you have to take a long nap, okay?”

Dirk nodded.

A few years of this later, and you and Dave thought everything would be okay. You _thought_ that, but you were wrong.

You were the one to find him, half-dead from blood loss in the bathtub. You panicked, but didn’t let your inner fear stop you from getting Dirk to the hospital in time to do something about it.

_He was eleven fucking years old._

Eleven year olds are supposed to… Fuck, ride bicycles, trade Yu Gi Oh cards, whatever eleven year olds do that isn’t _mutilate themselves_. He was too young. If you were honest with yourself, you’d been too young when you’d started, too. Fourteen was still young. But eleven? He was practically a baby.

You remember being in too much shock to process what was happening at first, but you had to do something. Dave agreed that you should talk to him.

“How long have you been doing this?”

A long pause. “Just this time.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask the next question, but it turns out you didn’t have to.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” Dirk promised. 

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” you snap, unintentionally. He flinched, looking up at you almost in apology, as if he were begging you not to yell at him. The poor kid was so damned _scared_. You sighed. “Yeah. I know you weren’t. It’s okay.” You pulled him into your lap, hugging the kid with all your might. “Just don’t do it again. All right?”

No reply.

“All right?” you repeated, a little more assertively than last time. Dirk still wouldn’t answer you. You held his face in your hands, forcing eye contact. “Look at me. You’re not doing this again. You hear me? If you do, you’ll be in trouble.”

You knew you couldn’t do that; it wouldn’t help. If anything, threatening him would make matters even worse. You decided that the best approach would be to stay… well, real. You weren’t going to talk down to Dirk. You weren’t going to be all condescending and adult-like, especially since you were once in the same boat. You wouldn’t have appreciated that, and you were sure Dirk felt the same way.

You showed him your own scars. You told him about how your past, and about how much your life used to suck, and how you used cutting to try and make everything stop. You told him it didn’t work. You said that you were pretty embarrassed about it, looking back, and that you hate looking at the marks it left behind, even now.

“That’s why I don’t want you to make the same stupid mistakes that I did.”

Dirk pressed his face into your chest. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Karkat…”

You sighed. “Thanks. Are you gonna do this again?”

“…I don’t know…”

“ _Dirk._ ”

“No…”

You hug him. “Just remember that we couldn’t take it if anything happened to you.” 

 

Dirk hasn’t had a single incident like that since, not that you know of. And as much as it kills you to think of him doing that at all, the fact that you at least haven’t been able to find anything out makes it better. You’d like to make him stop for good, if he still cuts. But you know that you can’t make that decision for him. You can only do whatever it takes to help erase the pain that caused all this.

You sigh, softly petting Dirk’s hair. This is your kid. Your baby. A much bigger baby now than when he became yours, but he’s still just that. A baby, much too young for all the shit he’s had to deal with over the years. Too young for the kind of suffering he has to endure every day. 

But it’s your job to support him, isn’t it? So you’ll do just that. And then, maybe one day, you can make up for not being able to protect him before.


	7. Harley, Get Your Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and adorable chapter. I'm sorry, I just had to. It was a must.

=> Be Dirk again.

“OMG, your hair is soooo sooooft!”

“Roxy, stop touching my... Wait, are you braiding it? This is a thing that can happen, really?”

“Well, there _is_ certainly enough to braid. I sometimes wonder what makes it all defy gravity as it does.”

“Answer: enough product to fill the Grand Canyon.”

“Shut up, Dave.”

You, the Striders, as well as the Lalondes, are both waiting for the curtains to rise on your school’s production of Annie Get Your Gun. Yeah. A musical. To be perfectly honest, you all would have avoided this sort of thing like the plague if it weren’t for the fact that you’re either dating or friends with some of the cast. 

Jade was born to play the lead, you think. She’s feminine yet fierce, innocent yet independent, just like Annie herself. In fact, Jade’s not really even acting at all. John plays...you forgot his name already. The male lead? Cocky, sexist douche. That’s as good a name for the character as any. Still, John fills the role surprisingly well, even if he almost quit when he found out that his blood relative would be his love interest.

Jane plays, to your surprise, the bitchy Dolly Tate, also known as the anti-Crocker. What the absolute fuck. You had no idea that sweet little precious Janey was even capable of such unbridled nastiness. The girl can _act_.

And Jake as Foster Wilson. He’s absolutely precious. Of course, he’s playing a snooty hotel manager, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the cutest goddamned snooty hotel manager on the face of the earth. Jake wasn’t so comfortable with the idea of wearing full-length pants, especially in the summertime, but to the director’s knowledge there were no shorts in old-timey Ohio, so he is sadly forced to hide his legs from the world for three hours, three nights in a row. 

The argument was silly, but... You have to say this makes you uncomfortable. You’ve never not seen Jake’s thighs before. It’s not right, seeing him in pants. You kind of never want to see it again, but then again, you’ll probably have to. What if you get married? Will Jake just have some bizarre shorts-tux, or will the image of Jake in a suit distract from the dreaded pants? ...Whatever, you’re probably not even going to get married anyway. Don’t bother yourself with thinking about things that will never happen, stop being such a clingy bastard, and for the love of god, _stop thinking about Jake’s legs._

Look at him, though. Look how adorable he is with his little tie and his fake American accent, his hair all slicked back. You want to go onstage and hug him, not giving a single fuck as to whether or not you get thrown out, but that would make you no better than Roxy. Oh well. At least you’re not the one drunkenly cheering your girlfriend’s name at inappropriate times during the play.

You keep asking Dave what time it is. This play is lasting longer than you thought it would, and you’re tired. You’re determined to stay until the end, though. You have an innkeeper to kiss, and you’re not about to leave him hanging.

After the actors take their final vows, you make your way backstage in search of Jake. He finds you first, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you tell him. 

He smiles. “I’m just glad you brought yourself.”


	8. Breathe

Robotics is in the fall. It is now mid-April. The spring musical is over, and these facts add up to mean only one thing: Your club meetings are extremely uneventful. In fact, the only reason that you all still hold meetings is that none of you have anything better to do on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Callie and Roxy are having a competition to see who can draw the most stylish dinosaur; that is quite literally the only thing going on at the moment. You don’t know one single thing about girl clothes, but if you had to guess the winner, it would more than likely be Roxy, even though Callie’s artwork is much better. Did you just mentally judge a prehistoric fashion show? Yes. You did. You’re not even ashamed.

John has started a countdown on Mr. Zahhak’s dry erase board. “Seventeen more days of school!!” under which Jane has written “Eight more for seniors, loser :B”. You had almost forgotten that you get out earlier than everyone else, for graduation stuff that you’ve decided doesn’t apply to you. You’re going to the ceremony, for your friends’ sake, but you aren’t participating; something about all that attention being placed on you makes you hella uncomfortable.

You don’t like being praised. You don’t like for people to be proud of you or for underclassmen to look up to you; you’re just _you_. Why would anybody feel that way about a wreck like yourself? Besides, it’s not like graduating high school is some great accomplishment or anything. A lot of people do it. A lot of people better than you.

Cal loudly calls you over to look at his computer, beaming with obnoxious pride. Not really a new thing, you think; the two of you have been in a constant battle of “who-can-freak-out-who-more-with-fanfiction” since September. Needless to say, you’ve been victorious so far. You’ve been able to handle reading some pretty kinky shit, but Cal gets flustered by even the mention of making out. 

What really frightens him the most, though, is the fact that you can keep the perfect poker face through even the most hardcore of smut. It psychs him out. But, in reality, most everything Cal’s assigned for you to read has been almost laughably clean.

You expect this one to be the same. You’re already prepared to skim through the thing with a bored expression, asking Cal something along the lines of _“Is this all?”_ and smirking when he calls you a monster.

It starts out innocently enough, but what you aren’t expecting is the fact that the piece contains some really graphic and explicitly detailed non-con. At first, you wonder how Cal ever managed to survive reading this, but then you get to, well, the part where things start to go wrong, and you... can’t do it. Your hands are shaking.

You can’t breathe. You never thought that reading something like this could affect you so greatly, but it does. It brings you back to years ago, the words in your ear, the splitting pain, the blood running down your thighs...You _can’t breathe_. Your chest is tight, your heart beating faster than you ever thought it could, almost to the point of hurting. Each desperate, choking attempt to take in air brings more water to your eyes until one tear makes its way down your cheek from the struggle alone. 

That’s when someone notices. A pair of arms helps you up and leads you somewhere else, somewhere quiet, while another pair is working to calm you down, rubbing your back and wiping off your face. You think the second pair might be Jake, but you don’t know. Your eyes are glued to the floor, and your mind trapped in the past. 

They help you sit down. Someone else brings you water. You hate causing a scene like this in front of your whole Engineering team, but you’re not really _there_ anymore. Not until you’re done reliving this nightmare. You’re stuck for however long it takes.

Slowly, you begin to realize where you are. You’re in the hallway outside Mr. Zahhak’s room. You try to focus on things around you. Your locker is nearby. So is one of Callie’s posters, and some flyers. You try reading them.

You recognize Jake’s voice. Jane’s too. They’re both trying to calm you, and it’s working. You let out a long, shaky sigh, falling into Jake’s shoulder as Jane runs a cold, wet paper towel across your face. You’re back in reality. You’re _safe_.

And you just had a full panic attack in front of everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Caliborn.


	9. Shrugger

== > Be Dave.

What the fuck just happened? 

You were minding your own business, showing a pair of lovely ladies what real art looks like, when Dirk went over to look at something for the dumb rich brat. The next thing you know, your twin is having to be escorted out of the classroom, pale and shaky, by Mr. Zahhak and Jake. John grabs a plastic cup from the back of the room and runs to get Dirk some water from a nearby fountain, leaving you to wonder what the hell is going on.

You know he doesn’t have asthma; John has asthma, and asthma attacks don’t look like that. They could to someone else, someone unfamiliar with the signs, or someone unfamiliar with Dirk, but you know better. If that were an asthma attack, Dirk Strider would no doubt have just sat in his chair like everything was fine and just let himself suffocate without even so much as breaking his stony expression, because apparently that makes him tough or something. Instead, he actually looked terrified. He even cried a little.

You wonder what freaked him out so badly. You go over to the temporarily-abandoned laptop, eyeing the screen lazily in search of anything that could have triggered this sort of extreme reaction from Dirk. You swear, if this has anything to do with Koreans and their stupid jump scares….

Oh. That’s it?

…Wait. 

_Wait_ , fuck… _No!_

You’re a lot of things, but one thing you aren’t is an idiot. You can put two and two together, especially on issues concerning your brother... But this time you hope you’re wrong. You hope he’s just, well… Really, really, really sympathetic towards survivors, or something. 

Because that’s not unlikely at all. Right? The guy is the single most unflappable fuck in the known universe no matter what the subject matter of what he watches or reads. You know this because you made the mistake of betting twenty bucks against it when he watched Marley  & Me for the first time. Nothing could ever get this much of a rise out of him unless it was a personal topic. A very, _very_ personal topic.

Roxy’s blocking the doorway, threatening potential crowds with a shake of her fist and calls of “keep movin’, nothing to see here.” She lets you through. Only you.

Dirk seems to have calmed down a lot by now. That’s good. Jake and Jane have him, and you think they’re doing a pretty okay job, so you leave them alone, watching from the doorway. After a few more moments, though, you approach them. 

“Hey.” You turn to Jake. “Give us a minute?” They leave, and you sit against the wall, taking Jane’s spot. Dirk won’t look at you. “You okay now?” you ask. 

“I think so.” He sighs, leaning back against the coolness of the cement behind him.

You waste no time. “Were you raped?”

He tenses. “Why would you…” Trails off.

“Where you fucking _raped_?” you repeat. “Just answer the goddamned question.”

Dirk looks at you for a brief moment, your eyes meeting for only a split second. No words are exchanged, but they aren’t needed; that look says it all, proving your deepest worry. You’re honestly not sure how to take this new development, so you start by reaching out and pulling him into a hug.

“You okay?” you ask. “I mean… Do you need anything?”

Dirk shrugs. “I’m good. It happened awhile ago, so it’s not a big deal anymore.”

Says the guy who just practically had a heart attack. “How long ago?”

He shrugs again.

“Stop shrugging, shrugger. That’s a very noncommittal gesture.”

“If that was a reference, Dave, it was lost on me.”

“ _What?_ How has Karkat not made you see that? I just see him, like, disowning you over not getting that reference.” He rolls his eyes. “Seriously, though, all movie quotes aside. How long ago was it?”

Dirk shakes his head. “I don’t… Can we not? I don’t like talking about it.”

You understand, you guess. “Yeah, cool. Just…” You reach out, lightly punching his shoulder. “I’m here. Okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re sure you’re okay now?”

“Yeah. I just…” He sighs. “I wanna go home and sleep.”

You and Jake end up getting into an argument over who gets to take him home. Dirk announces that he’s already texted Karkat, so it’s fine.

Well, damn.

Your job just got harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not seen Warm Bodies, I swear I will make you have movie night with me. It's so good, and evn though I hate romance movies and am a zombie movie snob, I still liked it. Even though the lore was all stupid.


	10. Teen Idle

Dirk: Lie around in bed for awhile.

As soon as you got home, Karkat insisted that you go upstairs and rest, so that’s what you’re doing. Resting. Not sleeping, though you wish you could be. Sleep comes at odd times and in short bursts for you, and you’ve all but given up on it. It takes you when it wants you, you suppose, and lately it hasn’t been wanting you much at all. Big surprise. 

You sigh, staring up at your ceiling as if it had personally offended you on some deep level that it was unaware of. And it has, in ways. Not collapsing due to some unforeseen structural flaw and killing you instantly would be one of them. Not having any flaws or cracks or even tiles for you to focus your attention on at the moment would be the other.

Your door opens unexpectedly. Maybe it’s Karkat, coming to tell you that you’re free from your linen bedsheet prison to go downstairs for something to eat.

“‘sup?”

No. Just Dave. Another sigh. “Didn’t Karkat tell you I’m supposed to be sleeping?”

“You don’t look asleep to me, bro.” Dave sits, uninvited, at the foot of your bed.

“Dave, I’m tired. Go home.”

“But I just got here.”

You roll over. You wanted at least a solid day or two of hiding and nursing your pride before you had to face the outside world, particularly anyone who was an unwilling audience member to your little... _show_ , or whatever that was. Everyone saw you have a panic attack; you were planning on going back to school the picture of zen as always, just to prove to them that you weren’t a _complete_ mess. You would have needed roughly twelve to twenty four hours to fully accomplish putting together the mask, though.

Dave is a special case, you think. He’s seen you in worse states than this, so you aren’t worried about keeping up appearances around him. So you sigh and ask him what’s been on your mind all afternoon. “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest, how much of an ass did I make myself out to be back there?”

Dave shrugs. “Honestly? I’d say in the negative thirties. Dude, it’s cool. Nobody thinks you’re an ass, I promise.” He pauses. “Well, I do. But that’s different, man. We’re brothers. That makes you _my_ ass.”

“I’m not really sure how to respond to that, so just pretend I said something witty and hilarious as a comeback.”

“Will do.” He frowns slightly. “Goddamn, your room’s a wreck. Look at all those swords lying... Why do you have so many swords on the floor? Holy shit, I almost stepped on one. I could’ve sliced my fucking foot open.”

You roll your eyes. “First: Are you Karkat now? Because you sure are sounding like a mom. Second: You’re not gonna cut your foot open, you’re wearing shoes. Besides, they’re not even angled to cut jack shit like they are, unless you were barefoot and took a very carefully planned kick at them. I’d be more worried about the tools and shit. Ever step on a bolt? Don’t.”

“Can’t be as bad as stepping on a lego.”

“Dave, don’t be ridiculous. I can think of maybe one or two things worse than stepping on a lego.”

“Yeah. My picture of hell is like, this big wooden floor with a shit ton of those plastic bastards lying out everywhere. And you have to make it to the other side.”   
You shudder. “Why would you even describe that out loud? Now I’m picturing it.”

“Well, it got you to stop obsessing over what happened today, didn’t it?”

A pause. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Dave shrugs. “Well, it looks like my work here’s not done yet. I’ll have to stay the night. Oh well.”

You frown. “No, Dave. Go home.”

“Never.” He pauses, waving a hand. “Okay, okay, not never. Just not tonight.”

“Dave. I’m serious. Go the fuck home.”

“You---”

“I’m _fine_ ,” you insist. “Really.”

Dave doesn’t go home. In fact, he’s still there at ten thirty, content to stay in your room as if it were his own. 

“How late do you wanna stay up?” he asks.

“Excuse me, this isn’t a goddamned slumber party.”

Dave shrugs. “Yeah, but I’m not gonna just curl up and go to bed without you at your own house. That’d be rude. I mean, c’mon.”

“Dave. Go the fuck to sleep if you’re tired. You know I don’t care.”

“I’m never the first one out. Sleepover rules, dude, you know I didn’t write them.”

“Who the fuck did, then?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Probably some pre-pubescent girl with braces. C’mon, bro, I’m tired. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Then you’d better go down to the hospital and have them induce a coma.”

Dave scoffs. “Oh yeah, haha. I guess you’re forgetting that we look _exactly the same_.”

You say nothing. Honestly, you don’t think Dave looks all that bad. He’s what you would look like if you were one hundred percent healthy and radiated self esteem. At least half of it made up, but that’s not the point. The point is that you’re slightly jealous of Dave and have been ever since you can remember. Of his looks, his personality, his friends, his almost flawless childhood, everything. But envy won’t solve anything, and you know that none of it is Dave’s fault, so you let it go. And at least you have better hair than him.

You sigh. “Fine. We’ll go to bed.” You turn out the lights, earning an instant cry of shock from your twin.   
“Christ! Warn me next time!”

You shrug, lifting one side of the covers. “You can’t complain. You see better in the dark, anyway.”

“ _Shades._ ” Dave climbs in bed beside you. “Hey, you and Jake didn’t, y’know, _do anything_ in here, did you?”

“Why?” you ask. “Would it bother you?”

He makes a face. “Uh, hell yes it would. I’d be greatly bothered to find out that I’m lying in the love nest of my brother and his socially retarded giraffe of a boyfriend.”

“Jake’s not a socially retarded giraffe.”

“Have you met him?”

“... Point taken.”

“He is literally the Moon Moon of humans. He is, I dunno. He’s Shorts Shorts.”

“Dave, no.”

“Goddamnit, who brought Shorts Shorts along?”

You respond with a sharp kick to his shin. “You will _never_ speak of that meme here. Not in this house. Not again.”

Dave shrugs. “Okay. Let’s talk about something else. Do you think pigeons have feelings?”

“Dave. I will murder you.”

“Whoa, calm your tits, man. I was asking a legitimate question. For science.”

“Science.”

“ _Science._ ”

There’s a long pause before either of you speak up again.

“So have you done it yet?” Dave asks, bluntly as always.

You snort, rolling over. “Wow.”

“I’m being serious. Have you?”

“No.”

He shrugs. “No shame in that.”

“You’re acting like you... No.”

“Yup.”

“Oh my god.” You suddenly want to hear nothing on the subject again out of abject horror of imagining your brother in that context, while still wanting to hear every detail out of general nosiness. So you say the only thing that can readily come to your mind. “Oh my god.”

“So now that that’s out, you owe me. I told you, so now I expect a full report on... Well, not _full_ report--”

“Dave, I’m going to write you a song. It’s called ‘We’re Never Going to Talk about Fucking Our Bucktoothed Boyfriends Ever Again’, in D minor.”

“Dude, no. I hate that song.”

“Too bad.”

There’s a long pause, an even longer one than before. After a few minutes, you think that Dave may have fallen asleep. But his unusually serious voice cuts through the silence, making him sound almost like a giant in the tiny room.

“I think we both know what I came over to talk about.”

You sigh. “Look, Dave--”

“No, no ‘look, Dave’s. I’m not having it. We’re gonna talk about this.” You hesitate before nodding slightly. “When was it?”

“...Second grade. End of second grade, near the summer.”

Dave sighs deeply, as if remembering something that just now made sense. “Okay. Who?”

You shrug. “Dave--”

“No. Who do I need to kill?” No familiar lightness or air of sarcasm in his voice, only pure, cold anger. You had only heard that from Dave once, in middle school, when Jade admitted to the two of you in tears that some girls had been bullying her. Same question then. And, like back then, it unnerves you a bit, the seriousness of it. 

“Nobody. They’re dead now. It doesn’t matter.”

“They?” he asks.

“Yeah, Dave, they. But only one--Shit, can we not?”

“Are you gonna freak out on me again?”

“Dave, I just might,” you snap, eyes narrowing in warning. 

He sighs. “Just answer me one thing: Are you okay?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Are you okay? I mean, I just wanna know if I should be worried. That’s all.”

You don’t know how to answer him, but you know he won’t let up until you say something. And so the dam you’ve built up for nine full years breaks, letting out all your pent up thoughts and frustrations like a raging tsunami.

“I don’t know, Dave, let’s see. I haven’t slept for a full night in almost a month, and whenever I _do_ sleep, I have nightmares so realistic and terrifying that I usually wake up in tears. I don’t eat most of the time, not because I’m not hungry, but because I know that one wrong comment, one single rape joke, even a particularly vivid sex scene in a movie, will land me knees first in front of the nearest toilet, and the last thing I need is someone thinking I’m bulimic or something.

“I live in constant fear of driving my friends and boyfriend away with my perpetual angst and needy behavior. Do you know how many times Jake almost broke up with me over that shit, before I told him why? Three. Three times, Dave. That’s how insufferable I am now. I know that he’s only with me now out of pity.

“The worst part, though? I can’t feel _shit_. I’m numb, all the time, and it won’t _stop_. I’ve tried cutting, I’ve tried drinking, hell, I did drugs once, even, but it didn’t work. It never does. All it ever does is leave me with more scars and more reasons to feel sorry for myself. Sometimes, y’know, I just--”   
“Dude.” Dave hugs you. “Dude. It’s okay. I’m here.”

You hug him back, shakily. “I never asked for this.”

“I know you didn’t.” He holds you tighter. “I love you.” You start to say it back, but Dave stops you. “No, just listen. I love you. I mean that.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna get through this.”

You’re silent.

You wish you could believe him.


	11. Suddenly Caliborn

Jake asks you to prom on Monday, in the form of an adorably dorky note.

“That’s against the rules, right?” you asked. “They’d kick us out for, I dunno, gay-ing up the place. Wouldn’t they?”

“I suppose so,” he shrugs. “But coincidentally, I just so happen to know of a pair of lovely ladies with the same problem.” Jake gives you a knowing wink.

“So we date-swap.” You smirk. “Mr. English, you rule-breaker. Next thing I know, you’ll be cutting in line and jay walking.”

“What do you say?”

“I say I call Jane. No boyfriend of mine will be forced to take his own cousin to prom.”

“I thought you might say that.”

 

-

Porrim Maryam, or Aunt Porrim, as she insists on you calling her, is a part-time fashion designer who owns her own fabric store. She is a year younger than Bro, Roxy’s mom’s sister-in-law, and most importantly, Karkat’s older cousin. Karkat hates it when Aunt Porrim makes her semi-regular appearances at your home, first of all because she sometimes brings along Kankri, and secondly because he doesn’t like anyone telling him how to raise his kid. And that she inevitably will always do.

“Karkat, dear, are you feeding the boy?” Porrim asks, giving your side a gentle pinch. “He’s absolutely too thin. I’ve sent models home for being underweight with more flesh than this one.”

Karkat sighs in frustration. “Yes, Porrim, I am feeding him.”

“And these curtains, oh no. This simply won’t do. How can anyone expect to grow up with--”

“The curtains are fine, Porrim, no one gives a flying fuck about the curtains.”

Porrim narrows her eyes, taken aback. “Do _not_ curse around the child.”

“What child? He’s seventeen years old! I’ve heard worse language coming out of his mouth, actually.”

You shrug. You really can’t deny that.

Aunt Porrim is at your house because she will simply not stand for any nephew of hers having to rent a tuxedo for a school formal. She says that it would be a waste of money when she herself is such a talented seamstress, and besides, you would look much better in something she designed, so you might as well just let her handle it...since she has nothing better to do at the moment. You think she’s secretly been looking forward to this since you were a little kid.

“Ow, fuck!”   
“ _Language_ , young man.” Porrim takes the last needle out of her mouth. “What’s your date wearing?”

“I dunno... Pants, shirt, bowtie?”

“The girl. What color is her dress?” You shrug. “Keep still!”

“I don’t think she has one yet.”

“I’ll make one for her. One to match Roxy’s. Dirk Strider, I told you to keep still! Do you want to be stabbed with a needle?”

 

-

 

Aunt Porrim leaves, and subsequently, Karkat mood improves drastically. He lets you not only order pizza, but also eat it in your room. Which is pretty convenient, you think, since that means you now have absolutely no reason to leave the comfort of your own bed for the next several hours. Life is great.

At least, until Cal shows up.

“It’s Saturday, fucker!” he announces loudly, throwing your door open.

You sigh. “Oh god...”

“ ‘Oh god’ is right! I now know where you live, haHA!!”

Callie follows shortly after, entering the room much more quietly than her brother had. “Why must you always be so dreadfully _loud_?”

“Hey.”

Cal rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck you!” He then drops down onto your bed like he owns the damned place, grabbing at your arm. “Draw something!”   
You shake him off. “Never.”

“Yes! Right now!”

“No,” you tell him. “Here’s what’s happening: I’m gonna continue reading Dangan Ronpa, and I’m gonna pretend that roughly 50% of you isn’t here. Guess which 50%.” You lightly pat the side next to you not currently occupied by Cal, and Callie gracefully makes her way to you and sits down, smoothing out the fabric of her skirt as she does so.

“I smell food. You have food.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You take out a half-eaten box of pizza from lunch, offering some to Callie. She smiles, lifting a slice to her mouth.

Cal reaches for it, but you pull it away. He frowns. “What the fuck, Strider?!”

“You get _nothing_.” A few minutes of pouting later and you’ve decided you’ve messed with the boy enough, so you lift the box’s lid for him. “How’d you guys find me, anyway?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Callie elbows her brother in the ribs. “Our cousin brought us here.” She smiles. “It seems that he’s an old friend of Mr. Karkat’s.”

“Really?” You honestly thought you’d met all of Karkat’s old friends. Maybe you hadn’t, you don’t know. Or maybe you had, but it somehow never came into conversation that any of them were related to the twins. “Who’s your cousin?”

“Gamzee Makara.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maraca?”

Callie giggles. “No, silly, _Makara_. Haven’t you met?”

“No, can’t say I have. Maybe. I can’t remember.”

“I think you would remember him if you had.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “He’s quite memorable.”

And by memorable, you know that she probably means either eccentric or... You look slowly to Cal, who is now aggressively eating pizza in the style of a T-Rex. _That_. You sigh, hoping it isn’t the latter.


	12. Purple Bigfoot

==> Karkat: Talk to the sasquatch in your living room.

No, you aren’t kidding. Gamzee Makara, standing at roughly six-foot-six with palms the size of your face, is an actual, literal fucking giant. He was also once your closest friend in the entire world.

That said, the two of you haven’t actually been face-to-face in almost...wow, thirteen years. Not since he quit high school. After that, you mostly just heard of how he was doing from other people. You never once heard _from_ Gamzee, only _about_ Gamzee, until he shared more in common with Bigfoot than just a suit size. Had it not been for things others told you about him, you would have thought he died.

The two of you hadn’t consciously been avoiding each other; you just sort of drifted apart. You still care about the weirdo, and you’re glad he’s not dead. But god, it’s awkward being alone together now.

Gamzee still looks the same, more or less. Same stupidly messy dark hair, same green eyes, same overly-laidback grin on his face that you still almost want to punch off just for existing. He seems to have outgrown painting his face like the goddamned Joker, which is a relief, and he’s gained a few more tattoos. He’s also gained a series of long, scratch-like scars running three parallel, diagonal tracks down his face. They look like they belong to a James Bond villain, not your old friend.

Gamzee shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh. He explains that once, when he was high on something that he definitely shouldn’t have been taking, he had made the mistake of breaking into five-foot-tall closet badass Nepeta Leijon’s house, for reasons he says make no sense to the mentally sound. 

“I wasn’t out to hurt a motherfucker,” Gamzee swears. “...Not on purpose, anyway.”

“So then, why’d she do _that_?” you ask, pointing to his face.

He shrugs. “I don’t even fucking blame her, brother... I was all kinds a’fucked up back then.”

“Are you guys talking now?”   
He nods. “Yeah, me and kittysis’re all good now. Had no need to all up and forgive a motherfucker for scaring her like that, but she did.”

You shrug. “She’s Nepeta. Do you forgive her, though?”

“Like I said, I don’t fucking blame her.”

You pour him some coffee. “So you have kids now,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

Gamzee shakes his head. “Nah, bro, those’re my cousins. They’re staying with me for awhile ‘til their mom comes back.”

“How long is awhile?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He pauses. “Six years.”

“Do you honestly expect her to take them back?”

“...No. But they don’t need to be in the know about it.” Gamzee sighs. “Calibrother took it real hard when she walked out. Part of him thinks it’s his fault.”

You frown. “Gamzee, you don’t know a damned thing about kids or how to take care of them.”

He shrugs, picking up his mug and taking a sip. “Been doing okay so far, all thanks to Tavbro. Besides, brother. I’m all they’ve got.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head slightly in defeat. “Look... If you ever need help, just ask. I won’t let you fuck up being these kids’ guardian.”

Gamzee smiles at you, that near-infuriating yet endearing lazy smile of his. “Thanks, Karbro.”

You shrug, smiling back slightly. “What are friends for?”


	13. Promstuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG *cries*

= => Dirk: Examine yourself in the mirror.

You are one fine motherfucker right now, if you do say so yourself. And, on this rare occasion, you do, because damn, Aunt Porrim definitely knows her way around a sewing machine.

It’s prom night, and you, like a teenage girl anxiously await your dorky suitor, all the while secretly dreading the sight of him in pants. You adjust your bowtie for what seems like the millionth time tonight before Bro comes in behind you and fixes it for you.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.” He smirks. “Looking sharp there. Jake’s one hell of a lucky guy.”

You shrug.

“Hey, don’t shrug at me. You know I raised you better than that. Now hold your head up high and say with the confidence of a god, ‘ _I am a Strider_!’”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m a Strider?”

Bro gives you a slight frown, looking down at you from over the tops of his shades. “Dirk.”

 

“I am a Strider,” you repeat, this time with a little more confidence.

“Again.”

“I’m a Strider.”

“No, but this time, boldly proclaim it.”

“I’m never doing that.”

“You’re grounded.”

“ _Bro, please._ ”

Bro shrugs. “Okay, fine. But you look good, kiddo. I mean that.”

“Thanks, Bro.”

“I think you should know before you thank me too much that I came up here with ulterior motives.”

“Oh god no.”

He laughs slightly. “Hey, don’t worry. Just the standard pre-date parent-child talk. Nothing special.”

You roll your eyes. “Bro. I swear. Tell me this isn’t going where I think it is.”

“It might be.” He sits down on your bed, motioning for you to join him. You do. “Be safe, alright?”

“No, Bro, I’m off to do hardcore illegal drugs and have an orgy. It’s not like I’m graduating with honors or anything.”

“Don’t joke like that.” Bro puts a hand on your shoulder. “Look. Your friends are good kids. I mean that. I’m not worried about you getting into trouble. It’s just—”

“You don’t want me and Jake having sex,” you finish bluntly.

Bro gives a slight shrug. “Honestly? I don’t really mind that. I know what it’s like to be your age, so if you’re both game, go for it. I just don’t want one of you getting hurt. Physically, I mean.”

You stand up with the force of a thousand ‘nope’s, your face now probably the same color as a strawberry. “No, Bro, we’re not talking about this. Never.”

“Okay, just—”

“This conversation ends now. I’m going to…do something downstairs.” You then get the fuck out of there, effectively more embarrassed than you’ve ever been.

 

-

 

“You’re beautiful,” says Jake the moment the two of you are alone in his car. You shrug. “Stop that,” he insists. “I mean it.”

You respond with a gentle kiss to his cheek, and Jake takes your hand in his. The two of you stop to pick up the girls, both clad in sparkly pastel minidresses of Porrim’s creation, and all four of you head to the dance with the soundtrack of _Nightmare Before Christmas_ blasting through the speakers. Maybe the highlight of the evening will be listening to Roxy’s rendition of “What’s This”.

It isn’t. The dance itself was fun, you suppose, as you got in several (cringe-worthy and humiliatingly awkward, complete with accidental foot-stomping) slow dances with Jake. You also had the humble privilege of educating a certain fool in aviator shades and his little boyfriend on the correct way to Gangnam Style ( _peasants_ ). Jade seemed slightly bummed over not having a date, and thus no one to dance with. Dave noticed, and wordlessly pointed it out to everyone. So of course, you, Jake, Dave, and John all made sure that her metaphorical dance card was filled up all night.

 

-

After the dance is over, your original party go to the beach for some alone time with your respective love interests. Jane and Roxy sit together on the sand (on towels, of course), and you and Jake are standing together at the end of the pier, leaning on the rails overlooking the water.

“I have something to ask you,” Jake says, after a long silence. He sounds nervous.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat, then after a pause, speaks up again. “I’m going away this summer. I’m going to travel the world.”

You frown slightly. “Did you bring me here to break up with me?”

Jake shakes his head quickly. “Heavens, no! I was just…” He tugs at his collar anxiously, then looks at you. “I was wondering if you would go with me.”

You blink in surprise. “Yeah. I mean… Yeah, I’ll go.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling.

Jake beams with excitement and relief, pulling you in for a long, slow kiss.

The night just got about ten times better.


	14. Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, I'm sorry this took so long.

Well. This is awful.

You’ve never tried to sleep on a plane before, and you can see that it’s not happening any time soon. Jake doesn’t seem to be having any trouble, but then again he never really does; he has the amazing talent of being able to doze off anywhere, anytime, under any conditions. You admire him for that.

Too bad you weren’t blessed with the same skills. You can barely sleep in a bed 90% of the time, much less sitting up with no leg-room inside a shaky, metal tube. Oh well. Now to watch whatever movies available to kill time.

You can’t say that you’d be sleeping anyway, you think, and not just because of your ongoing insomnia. It’s mostly out of pent-up nervous energy over having so much interrupted alone-time with Jake. Sharing a room, and probably a bed with Jake. Free to make out to your collaborative hearts’ content. And also commit whatever unholy act that the two of you see fit. And by that, you mean get it on like the desperate, hormonal youths you both are. That’s exactly the problem.

It shouldn’t worry you as much as it does. The _idea_ doesn’t sound so bad; you have no problems with this sort of commitment and dramatic relationship milestone, obviously. Your family likes him…to a weird extent. You’re about 99.998% sure that they’re all planning your wedding behind your back. All signs say now’s the ideal time for something like this, and yet…

You’re scared. There’s no other word for it, really. You keep telling yourself that it’ll pass, but somehow you know it won’t. You can’t stop obsessing over it. You’re afraid that, once things heat up to the point of no return, you’ll panic and try to back out. Perfectly understandable, seeing that…No, no it’s not perfectly acceptable. It’s pathetic. Look at yourself, can you even explain the reasoning behind such a fear?

Indefinitely. You could fill a book with your explanations, but a few big issues stand out in your mind. You wonder if this sort of activity will bring up any less-than-pleasant memories or potentially trigger some sort of freak out. Hopefully not, but if it does, will it ruin everything? Knowing Jake, he won’t be offended or blame you, or really anything other than feel like a horrible person and never touch you again. And you don’t want that. You really, really don’t want that.

You can almost guarantee that Jake knows basically nothing about sex other than what’s gained from television and ninth grade health class. That said, he’s also never done this before, and you…

…have…

Wow. That actually, physically hurt, just a little bit.

But the less you think about it, the less it bothers you, so back to your original point. You don’t know how this will work, or even if it will. You’re relatively sure that you’ll be the one on the receiving end, because even though Jake probably thinks he could handle it without any prior experience or long-term preparation, you know that he absolutely can’t. And yes, by “long-term preparation” you do mean _that_. Last time you’re ever bringing that up.

Perfect timing. Jake’s waking up, all sleepy and adorable. You pet his hair some, not saying a word, in hopes that he’ll drift off again. And he does, resting his head on your shoulder. 

-

You get to your hotel at around midnight, both of you pretty exhausted, so thankfully you get to postpone facing your fears for at least a night. You both fall into bed—the _same_ bed—and immediately pass out. Well… Jake does. You, on the other hand, stay awake for five more hours, obsessively worrying about everything about your current situation.

-

Day three: you haven’t done anything yet. Okay, that’s not exactly true. You went a few places, and you cuddled. You’ve been cuddling a lot, actually. Fuck yes. Cuddling is always welcome, and so is making out (something you’ve also done quite a bit of). It’s not so terrifying after all.

You’re just so comfortable with Jake. It’s almost like you’ve known him for ten years… Oh wait! You actually _have_. There’s literally no reason to be afraid or nervous with him, because he’s Jake. He’s always been there for you, and he always will.

And that’s exactly when it hits you. It doesn’t matter if you completely fuck up this first time. It doesn’t matter if you fuck up every time from now on. Because Jake won’t hate you; he’d never hate you. He personally promised you this himself, and if you’re trusting him with your body and possibly even your future, you should trust him about this at least.

You suddenly don’t care that something might go wrong. You really don’t. You’re ready, and if Jake’s not, that’s cool, but if he is, that’s even better. Because now you’re okay with just about anything.

“Are we doing anything tomorrow morning?” you ask, deciding to just get it over with.

Jake blinks slightly. “No, why?”

You shrug, hopefully hiding your own embarrassment. “I thought we might stay up late.”

He’s confused. “Doing what?” Poor innocent little baby.

You kiss his neck, moving your hand down to lightly trace the zipper of his pants. “What do you think?”

“Oh.” Jake’s face turns about five shades of red with realization. “ _Oh._ ”

“Want to?” You start to back off, wishing you hadn’t brought it up. “I mean…”

He kisses you, and suddenly it’s all okay.

Both of your shirts come off, and it’s okay.

It’s okay when he kisses his way down your neck and all across your chest.

When the rest of your clothes end up on the floor, it’s okay.

You notice that, wow, Jake’s also naked. (That is _more_ than okay.)

When things start to feel _really_ good, you’re still okay. 

And when you’re seconds away from getting to the actual _act_ , you start freezing up, and you’re genuinely terrified. You can’t will yourself to relax. The best you can do is try and disguise the shaking and irregular breathing as excitement, but as dense as he usually is, Jake catches on. He’s patient with you, rubbing your back and trying to calm you. When that doesn’t work, he just picks you up and holds you. Rocks you some.

You know it’s just Jake. You know. And you’re angry with yourself. But he’s bigger than you, if only very slightly, and you’re somehow not okay with having him on top of you like he just was. 

After a short while, you decide to make it work somehow. You kiss him again, gently pushing Jake down onto his back. You straddle his lap with a new rush of confidence.

And all night, starting with that moment, everything in the world is okay for once.


	15. Minichapter: Morning

It was sloppy, passionate, and awkward, like most first times are. It wasn’t the fantastic, breathtaking display of carnal desire you’d been expecting, but it was by no definition a train wreck. In fact, it was the best sex you’d ever had. 

Somehow, that joke wasn’t funny at all. Then again, you never expected it to be.

You feel a lot better somehow, and you should. You overcame one of your biggest fears, cleared your mind for a night, and managed to sleep for six hours. And the only reason it wasn’t more than six is because you were up kind of late. All in all, it was a pretty good night.

Jake’s still asleep, and you’re not about to wake him up anytime soon. Not a chance. He’s so cute just like he is, and it makes you want to cuddle him. So you do. 

You can’t clearly remember feeling this content about anything in awhile, so it comes as a shock to you and everyone else when you’re hospitalized less than a week later.


	16. You Hurt Him

You’d love to say it got better from there, but it didn’t. Not that you expected it to. Life isn’t the movies; you don’t fall in mutual love with some guy and just magically forget all your problems. It doesn’t work that way.

You stop sleeping after two nights. Voluntarily, this time: it’s because the nightmares start up again. You’re tired, yes, but you force yourself to stay awake. You think it’s going to be fine until the fourth night of doing this, when Jake’s out…Wow, you’re too tired to even remember what he left to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been awake for this long at a time before in your life. Sure, you’ve had sleep trouble for a long time, but you’ve always been able to force at least half an hour a night. But this time? Nope. 100 hours of nonstop consciousness.

Jake is gone. But to where? You can’t remember. Is he coming back? Maybe. You’re too tired to remember. You’re too tired to think, really, and so your mind wanders. 

It’s never good when that happens.

The flashbacks start, and you’re alone for all of them. You need Jake, to talk to you and distract you from your thoughts, but you can’t call him. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. And you won’t allow yourself to cry. So what do you do, exactly? Have a sleep deprivation-fueled mental breakdown. 

After what seems like hours, the panic sets in. When is Jake coming back? _Is_ Jake coming back? Probably not. He probably left you for good. Whatever he told you he was leaving to do was just an excuse. An excuse to get away from you for awhile. 

Then you start thinking about everything that’s ever happened wrong in your relationship. All the times he actually, legitimately wanted to break up, before you somehow talked him out of it. You know what? He probably… No, definitely. He definitely still wants to. But he can’t, because he feels sorry for you. Face it, if you weren’t a walking suicide hazard, Jake would have left you by now. He’s over you, he just doesn’t want anything that happens to you on his conscious.

Would he have any reason to want out if you weren’t this way, though? Would you still be as desperate, as controlling, as pathetic and smothering as you are now? Answer: yes, absolutely. Why? Because nothing in the universe could ever change what a disgusting excuse of a human being you are. 

Maybe you’re just thinking negatively. Maybe you’re obsessing over nothing. No, no you aren’t. You’re right this time. About this, only this. What happened to “Everything’s okay because Jake won’t hate me”? You don’t even know how you came to that conclusion, since he already does. Anyone could see that. 

And you don’t blame him, because look at you. You’re quite possibly the worst boyfriend anyone could have. You’re emotionally limited, distant, needy, obsessive, paranoid, dependent… The list goes on. Besides, who wants someone with PTSD? People don’t want dogs or cats with those kinds of problems, why would they want to be romantically involved with a person with them?

It’s not fair, really. No progress after how many years? And it’s not even like you weren’t getting professional help. No. This isn’t even the worst you could’ve turned out. You wonder if this is it. If this is going to be your whole life. Will you ever _really_ get better, or will you always be a mental wreck?

That’s about when you think killing yourself would actually be a really awesome idea.

You’ve never seriously thought about it before. Before, it just seemed overdramatic and defeatist, but now you don’t give a single fuck. Not one. All you want is for this to _end_. For _good_.

Your friends should get over it. They might not even notice. In fact, they probably won’t. As for Bro and Karkat, well… This is good for them. Thanks to you, they never got the chance to really be happy together. They had to postpone getting married because of you. So the least you can do is leave them alone from now on so that they can just relax and enjoy married life. They could even start over with a new kid. A better one than you.

And you _know_ you want Jake to be happy. The only way for that to happen is for you to get out of the picture.

 

You find yourself on the roof of the hotel without even remembering how you’d gotten there. The night is cold, but even though you shiver, you’re numb to it. You make your way to the ledge without hesitation, without a falter in your movements, because you know that you came up here for a reason. You have a purpose to fulfill, and you aren’t leaving unless gravity is your chauffer. 

You walk to your death the way that yesterday you were walking down the sidewalk, one that you ironically will be meeting with in a few moments. Actually, no, your stride is different now because you know that it will all be over soon. Almost a full decade of suffering, relieved in an instant. It’s liberating, almost.

_Just remember that we couldn’t take it if anything happened to you._

You freeze mid-step. It was something Karkat had said to you long ago, and you don’t know why you remembered it now. You only know that it snaps you out of whatever daze you’re in and makes you realize something. This doesn’t need to happen. You _want_ to end it…But somehow you know it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.

Then again…when had _life_ ever been fair to you?

Your head is spinning. You’re trapped in an internal struggle of life and death, and what mere seconds ago was a source of relief and closure is now leaving you with a feeling of helplessness. You’re overwhelmed. You’re afraid. You realize that you really don’t trust yourself at the moment, and that you need help.

You need _Jake_.

You take out your phone, which you brought with you only for the purpose of sending a few final goodbyes, and you call him. After three or four rings, you start to panic. If he doesn’t pick up, you don’t know _what_ you’ll do, only that you’re terrified of it.

On the fifth ring, he answers. 

“Come get me,” you plead quietly, feeling tears fall down your cheek for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Jake finds you in tears, your back to the tall ledge of the roof. He’s out of breath, and you know that he most likely ran up here to get you. Any other would approach you slowly, as if they were afraid of startling you into action, but not Jake. He immediately kneels down and takes you into his arms. You fall into his embrace, sobbing, actually _sobbing_ , while Jake just holds you more tightly than you’ve been held in a very long time.

Nothing is said for awhile.

Jake breaks the near-silence with a shaky voice. “Do you need anything?” He’s in shock, obviously, but he’s trying his hardest to help. Bless his adorable heart, he has no idea what to do, the right questions to ask, or even how he’s supposed to deal with this situation, but he’s still trying his best.

You say nothing for awhile. You can’t bring yourself to form words at first, but Jake gives you all the time you need. He’s always so _patient_ with you, it almost hurts. “I think…Maybe…” You still can’t think or speak clearly. “Hospital.”

Jake nods. He’s crying. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll take you.” He gives your cheek a gentle stroke, like he thinks any more pressure could cause you to physically shatter, and you hear the heartbreak in his voice as he tells you he loves you.

You look at Jake’s face, at his shocked, hurt expression. He’s genuinely in pain, the kind that can’t be faked, and it’s because he loves you. He really does. And while this is a relief, a part of you withers and dies knowing that you caused every tear that clouds his beautiful eyes. You know that he won’t sleep tonight. You know that you’ve hurt him, and badly. You know that he’ll blame himself for this, even though he had nothing to do with it. You know that this will tear him apart, and it’s all your fault.

It’s cowardly, but at this moment, you wish that you’d jumped. That way you wouldn’t have to see Jake so broken up over something so honestly unimportant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I Andrew Hussie yet?


	17. Sorry I Failed You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On being Hussie, I tried to send a picture of a horse in my place when I couldn't go to a meet up

== > Be Dave Strider, the original.

_“Bath time’s over, kiddo.”_

_Dirk hides under the bubbles as if he honestly believed that in doing so, he would effectively make you forget he was there. But really. Like you’re just going to overlook the fact that the tub is clearly full of water._

_“I mean it. Time to get out.” The six year old always takes forever in the bath, usually spending only 10% of that time getting clean. The rest is consumed by dicking around like a cute little shit, with his little toy robots and rubber ducks. It’s kind of adorable, but other people need to use the shower at some point, too._

_“I’m never getting out,” Dirk protests, turning away from you._

_“You’ll turn into a raisin. You _hate_ raisins, Dirk.”_

_“That first thing was a lie. And I’m never, ever getting out,” he promises. “Not in a million years.”_

_“Wow, a million years?” you ask. “That’s a long time, little dude. Are you sure?”_

_“Very sure.”_

_“Suit yourself.” You shrug. “Hey, I guess that means you don’t want anything to eat tonight.”_

_“…No.”_

_“Okay. I’ll just eat all of it myself.”_

_“What’re you eating all of?” Dirk asks, suddenly very interested._

_“Doesn’t matter to you. You’re never getting out of the tub.” You start to walk away._

_You heard some frantic splashing and bumping around. “Wait, I’m getting out!”_

_You smirk, turning around and grabbing a towel from the rack. “Forever goes by pretty quick, doesn’t it? Hey, don’t climb out by yourself, you little shit. You’ll slip.” He does it anyway._

_“I didn’t slip, Bro,” states the cocky brat now dripping water all over your floor._

_“Hey, hey, you know gravity works on water, too. Right?” You wrap the towel around him. And Jesus fuck, it’s got fucking horses on it. You wouldn’t even own this towel if not for the adorable little guy it’s covering. Dirk looks at the floor, then back up at you apologetically. “I’m not mad. You know that.” You wonder if the kid has a permit to be this cute._

_He lifts his arms, the universal gesture for ‘please pick me up now’. It goes without saying, you do, and Dirk immediately cuddles against your shoulder. “Bro?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“It’s your fault.”_

_You freeze. “…What?”_

_**“All of this is your fault.”** _

You jolt awake, nearly falling from your seat. Weirdest dream you’ve had in a while, but it shook you like a hurricane, especially since you knew exactly what the last part of it was about.

You’re on a plane headed for, wow, somewhere in Scandinavia, probably? You’ve lost track. Oh well, they’ll remind you when you land. It’s not important.

What _is_ important is why you’re on the plane in the first place. Your beloved little asshole kid’s in the hospital for trying to jump off a building after having a mental breakdown. And the worst part? You couldn’t have stopped him. You were an ocean and a full continent away; in fact, you wouldn’t have even known about this had no one told you. Dirk could have died, and you’d have found out _when_ , exactly? Probably when Jake came back at the end of the summer and he didn’t.

Actually, no, you can think of something worse than that. Since you weren’t there, you weren’t the one who found him. You weren’t the one there to help him. You know that you won’t be there for him forever, but goddamn. It hurts when you’re not.

Karkat’s not taking this very well, understandably. He’s been an emotional fire hazard ever since you got the news. On-edge is his normal state lately; one tiny push sends him into either a fit of blind, undeserved rage, or turns him into a crying mess. You’d (as gently and as lovingly as possible) suggested he stay home, because you were worried about him, but… Now you’re wondering if that was really a good idea. What if Dirk thinks Karkat’s not there because, you don’t know, something he’s convinced he did?

Wait, back the fuck up, what’s Dirk even going to be like when you see him? Will he be like he was when all this shit started? God, you hope not. What if he just acts like nothing’s wrong? Like, “Oh hey, Bro, what’s up, I’m good, tried to kill myself yesterday, but you know.” You love the kid, but that pisses you off. Out of worry. It’s a weird combination.

You remember the last time you were on an airplane without Karkat. It was about nine years ago, when you had to go do something with work, and you wanted to take your boys with you. However, Karkat’s exact words were, “No, fuck that, I hate flying”, so you ended up only taking Dirk.

_“Want me to stow your bag?” you ask. The kid shoots you a look like the question personally offended him with its stupidity. You sigh. “I won’t.”_

_You know he’s only being a little dick because he’s terrified. He’s never flown before, and on top of that, he’s never gone farther than a few hours from home in his life. So you won’t say anything._

_“Hey, don’t be nervous, little guy. Look at flight attendants’ asses.”_

_“I’m telling Karkat.”_

_“Don’t do that.”_

_“Why do they all have on high heels?” Dirk asks. “They won’t be able to get out on the emergency slide.”_

_You shrug. “I guess it’s just the dress code.”_

_“That’s stupid.”_

_“You’re telling me, kid.”_

_“Is that why girls wear high heels? For work?”_

_“Sometimes. Sometimes they just like to.”_

_Dirk makes a face. “They like standing on their toes all the time?”_

_“I guess they do.”_

_“Girls are weird,” he states. “Bro, why are they so weird?”_

_You laugh. “I still haven’t found that out.”_

_“Do you think Roxy’s mom is weird?”_

_“The weirdest.”_

_“…Girls scare me sometimes, Bro.”_

_“Same.”_

-

Dirk’s got a slight fever when you get there. Apparently he hasn’t been taking very good care of himself, so his immune system’s all fucked up. He’s also recovering from whatever strong sedatives they give him to force him into sleeping at night, so yeah. No dramatic reunion just yet. Not until he’s fully conscious.

“You okay, kid?” you ask, not expecting an answer.

“No.”

“I could’ve told you that.” You lightly put a hand on his forehead. “Are you up to talking yet?”

“Talking?” Dirk asks. “Or _talking_?”

“How about both?”

“How about _no_?”

“How about your ass sasses me again and I’m _out_?” You make him flinch. _Yikes_. Fuck. No, hold on. “Shit, wait, I’m sorry.” You sigh. “I’m not going anywhere. Long flight, no sleep. Didn’t mean to snap.”

“Sorry. About the sass, and about the trip.” He sighs. “Sorry for making you waste your time on me.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Let me _explain you a thing._ Okay?” You point at him for emphasis. “If you think I’m ‘wasting my time on you’, you’re wrong. I wanted to come here. For you.”

Dirk doesn’t say anything.

“Well, now that I know you’re perfectly up to the task of forming words…” You take in a deep breath. “Why?”

He takes awhile to answer. “It’s not important.”

“It’s important enough to die over. Spit it out.”

“I just…” He sighs. “I’m never going to be okay. Am I?” You start to stay something. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not. Am I?”

For the first time in your life, you’re at a loss for words.“I don’t… Maybe…”

“ ‘I don’t, maybe’ isn’t good enough. I… I can’t, Bro. I’m sick of living like this.” Dirk clutches at the sheets, looking away. “I really don’t think it’s ever getting better for me. Every day hurts a little more, Bro, and I don’t know how much more I can take.” He turns to look at you once more, his eyes full of pain. “It’s _killing me_.”

You can’t do this. Not when your kid, the one you’ve given eleven years of your life to, the one part of your life you’re proudest of, looks so broken and lost. You don’t have anything clever, or thoughtful, or even remotely Davelike to say. All you can do is hold him and say the only thing that comes to mind.

“I’m sorry.”

“Bro—”

“I’m sorry… I ruined your life, didn’t I? It’s my fault that you’re like this. I’m sorry… I’m so, _so_ sorry…”

“Bro, no, you didn’t… Stop…”

You take his face in your hands. “Look at me. I’m gonna be selfish here. Okay? I’m the worst guardian, I know… But I can’t let you go anywhere. I don’t care if it’s for the best; I _can’t lose you._ ”

“The thing is… I don’t even _want_ to die,” Dirk admits. “Just being alive is okay… It’s _great_ , I just… don’t like being me… Being me _hurts_.”

“I know… I wish I could make it stop, buddy. I’d go through it all for you if I could.”

“I know, Bro…”

“I’m getting you through this,” you promise, gently petting his hair. “I’m not giving up on you.”

-

_“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.” You sigh. This kid will use any excuse to get out of his bed time._

_“I saw something move,” the second grader swears, clinging to your leg for protection._

_“A ghost, maybe?”_

_Dirk rolls his eyes. “Don’t make fun of me, Bro. Ghosts aren’t real. People are scarier anyway, and _that’s_ what’s in my room. A murderer.”_

_“Okay, maybe a murderer.” You kneel down to his eye level. “But he’s in the wrong house. You don’t fuck with Striders, and if he thinks he’s man enough to try, he can come right out of that closet and give me his best shot.” You smirk._

_“But—”_

_You pick the kid up and carry him to your room, pointing to the red-sheathed katana hanging above your bed. “See that sword?”_

_He nods. “I’ve seen it before.”_

_“It’s not just for show. It’s real, and I know how to use it.” Dirk looks awestruck. “So whoever’s in your closet’s got another thing coming if they think they’re gonna hurt you. And just in case you’re worried about me not getting there in time, you can crash in here for tonight. Just tonight, though.”_

_Dirk hugs you, relieved. “Thanks, Bro.”_

_“Don’t thank me. It’s just my job. I’d never let anything happen to you.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a kind of important chapter for me. Thanks to all the parents out there who help with our drama.
> 
> Happy father's(/brother's) day


	18. All For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never write serious fanfiction while picturing the characters' sprites. You will laugh, you will not have an easy time.

== > Dirk: Attempt to mend whatever you did to Jake.

And you know that what you did was probably scar him for life or some equally horrible, not-easily-mended thing. Actually, you’re pretty certain that he’s the one in need of psychiatric help right now, not you, just judging from how sad he seems around you these days. You’re out of the hospital now, thankfully. But Jake still won’t let you do anything for yourself just yet, and he seems to get uncomfortable if he goes five seconds without physical contact with you. It’s almost as if he still has to convince himself that you’re really here.

It’s five in the afternoon, and all Jake’s done the entire day is hold you. No, you mean it. He hasn’t done anything else. The only break he’s given himself from this task is when you went to the bathroom and locked him out. No, you’re not about to piss with him clinging to your waist. And when you came out, he was shaking. Visibly shaking. He then closely examined every inch of your body for any signs of injury, because apparently, he doesn’t trust you anymore. With good reason.

You hate what your stupid mistake has done to him. It hurts that even the thought of losing you was enough to make Jake act this way, but at the same time, it makes you feel kind of…well, _happy_. You’re happy, because this means that someone finds you important enough to fall apart over. But at the same time, you don’t want Jake to fall apart. You want him to smile that dorky, adorable smile of his, and you want him to get excited over dumb movies. You want him to laugh, and you want it to be because of you. You want him to gawk at fictional blue women, so that you can mock jealousy only to have him frantically apologize, so that you can watch his reaction when you tell him you were kidding. Then you want him to throw some dorky pickup line at you, complete with that ridiculous gun-wink gesture that makes you roll your eyes.

You also want to do all of this with him for a very long time. You want a life with him, and you want it to be a happy one. But it won’t be, unless you at least try to make it that way. You know that you can’t fix all your problems by willing them away, but you recognize now that you’ve been using excuses to rob yourself of happiness for…basically your entire life. And you can’t help that you’re depressed. You can’t help that you have flashbacks sometimes, or that you don’t always have the easiest time falling or staying asleep. But you’ve made progress. A lot of progress. And you think it’s time to take things one day at a time and start giving yourself credit for your achievements, no matter how small.

Look at you. Look at how far you’ve come. You’ve slept eight hours for two nights in a row. You can eat now without any trouble at all. You fucking graduated from high school a whole year early. How many people can say they’ve done that? Jake loves you, too, apparently. And you _must_ be worth his attention somehow for that to even be possible.

Yeah. You don’t think you’ll be giving up any time soon. 

“Jake?”

Jake goes back to very, very gently stroking your hair. “Yes, darling?”

“I think we should talk.”

“About?”

You sigh. “Everything.”

The two of you sit in silence for awhile. After all, neither of you have ever been all that adept at communicating your feelings. But eventually, you speak up.

“It wasn’t your fault. I want you to know that.” You take his free hand, holding it. “I’m sorry. For scaring you, and for making you feel like you have to take care of me.”

Jake kisses the top of your head lightly. “What are lovers for?”

You turn to face him. “Are you okay?” He doesn’t answer. “Babe?”

Jake’s lip trembles slightly, eyes glassing over with tears. “No.”

It’s your turn to hold him now. You take him into your arms, rubbing circles into his back and running your fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry…”

Jake gives you a very, very soft kiss, holding your face with one hand. “I can’t lose you. I’ve always been so afraid of commitment, of sharing a life with someone, but you… And this _incident_ … I finally realized how much I… _need_ you. I can’t imagine living without you. So, I…” He coughs, looking around and laughing slightly out of nervousness. “I had a full speech planned, but wouldn’t you know it, I forgot everything!” He clears his throat awkwardly, taking your hand and kissing it. “Marry me.”

And in that moment, you swear you feel like a fish trying to breathe air. You admit it, you choke. You’re surprised—shocked, even. You silently plead with yourself to say something, something cool, _anything_ , really. But in the end, you can’t remember how to speak, so you just kiss him. And then, shortly afterwards, you remember that Jake’s never been talented at deciphering hints, so you tell him that yes, you are 100% okay with getting married. He gives you that precious, dorky smile of his, and yes, _that’s_ what you wanted to see.

You place your head on his chest, messing with his hair a bit more. “I’m giving myself a chance,” you tell him. “For you.”


	19. In the End

_Several years into the future_

This morning, you are in for a rude awakening, as the first contact your face finds is not the light kiss of your loving spouse, but the feeling of being struck by something soft. Soft, like a… _Pillow_ , okay, who threw a pillow at your face? You sit up, taking a quick look around.

“Bro,” whines a small, blonde creature at the foot of your bed. He flails his little arms a few times, trying to get your attention. Isn’t it too early for this shit?

Okay, so maybe two-year-olds don’t exactly sleep late. “How’d you get out of your crib?”

The toddler makes a soft, whining noise and looks up at you impatiently.

“Sebastian.” Seb reaches for you, whining some more. You sigh, picking him up. “Fuck, fine. C’mon, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Seb presses his face into your shoulder, sniffling. No, he’s not crying. He just has allergies, and you swear to god, if he wipes his snot on you…He just did. Oh well. He’s just a baby.

Sebastian Strider turned two a month ago, and you know now why this developmental stage is so often called “terrible”. The kid tears everything up. Everything. And if he can’t find a way to destroy a thing, he’ll either claim it as his own or, if the thing is small enough, try to eat it. One stressful all-nighter of worrying and Jake’s tears at the hospital taught you that bolts are not okay to lose. The little bastard was fine though, thankfully.

Without a doubt, Seb’s the cutest little brat in the history of the entire world. That’s an undeniable fact of the universe; your kid won, everyone else can go home. Just look at him right now. Sitting on the counter with a wooden spoon in his mouth like an adorable motherfucker, letting out a string of babbles and nonsense as if what he were saying made any sense to anyone. Wait. Can babies understand other babies? Well, you’ve never had two of them in the same room, so you wouldn’t know.

You’re glad that you don’t have to work today, partly because this means you don’t have to give him over to Jane until five. Which, you know, you’re not completely against. Jane’s a great babysitter. And you’re not one of those overly attached parents or anything like that. 

Or, come to think of it, yes. Yes you are. You are totally one of those parents. But come on, look at the little shit, he’s so _cute_. And you know from experience what happens to cute when left unprotected… The answer is bad things. Bad things always happen to cute things, and it’s your job to keep them from happening to Seb.

Seb starts crawling toward the hot stove, but you pick him up just in time. “Hey, don’t go over there.” He struggles, whining. He’s pissed that you’re restraining him, and he wants to crawl around on the counter some more. 

“Buh,” whines Seb, poking his lip out at you in a dramatic pout.

You very gently grab said lip, giving it a playful tug. “Buh, nothing. I won’t be responsible for fried baby.”

“No _baby_.” Aw, look at him. He’s so mad. “I _big_.”

“Oh, sorry. My bad. Fried _big_ baby,” you correct, lightly tapping his nose.

Seb frowns at you and makes that little frustrated, growling noise that he always makes when he wants you to know he’s 100% done with your shit. But it always comes out unintentionally adorable, so you laugh. And he slaps you.

“Okay, what the fuck did I tell you about hitting?” you scold. The toddler’s lip quivers, and he sniffles a bit before he starts to cry. You sigh. “It’s okay… I’m not mad.” You ruffle his hair gently, then wipe his tears with the hem of your shirt. “You just can’t go around hitting people. Okay?” 

Seb nods, looping his arms around your neck tightly and saying a quiet “sowwy” into your chest. 

“Don’t cry. Pancakes. See?” You point to the stove, and the kid gets excited and reaches for it. “Not yet. They have to cook first.”

-

After nearly burning down the house, you finish making all the goddamned pancakes, and if you do say so yourself, they are the simply the best fucking example of circular, flat food you can imagine. You think that every citizen of the entire nation of Canada simultaneously orgasmed just from the creation of these magical pancakes. No, but really, you are the breakfast lord. Your crown is even made of bacon. Actually no, that’s gross. Forks then, probably.

Okay, you’ll shut up now.

Seb takes a bite. “Well?” He nods contently. “Better than Jane’s?” He makes a face. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

You will sadly never compare to the human specimen of perfection that is Jane Crocker. You know this. It is time to accept your fate as a lesser being and play with your child like he’s nagging you to.

You’re still not sure how to play with babies, but you learn something new about it every day. It’s kind of like playing with a cat, only the baby has no claws and looks at you like you’re an idiot if you wave a hand in front of its face. Laser pointers always produce good results. 10/10, would recommend. Until Seb runs into the wall again, at which point the games stop and it becomes settle-down time.

The two of you draw pictures for awhile, and then you curl up on the couch to old episodes of Sailor Moon. Yes, Sailor Moon. You are raising this child _right_. Seb eventually falls asleep on your chest, and cuddling with a warm baby makes you kind of tired, too. You start to doze off after about an hour.

You don’t know how long the two of you were asleep, but the next thing you feel is a blanket being pulled over you. You blink, trying to register what’s happening.

A light kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“You’re home early,” you note, taking care not to knock over the sleeping child on your chest. “Or…Are you? What time is it?” 

Jake smiles, gently petting Seb. “12:30. I came home to see if you wanted to get lunch.”

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses you again.

Seb slowly wakes up, rubbing his little eyes and letting out a yawn. “Daddy’s home.” He sits straight up in sleepy excitement, reaching out for him. Jake laughs and picks him up, spinning him a bit. They look so happy together, and damn if Jake doesn’t look hot when he’s with your kid. He’s so…You can’t explain it, really. But it does something to you, it really does.

This is your family. Your life. This is actually happening. To _you_.

-

It’s still hard sometimes. Sometimes your hands shake, and you don’t know why. Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, in the middle of driving, even in the middle of something as simple as picking out a spoon from the drawer, you get drawn into a flashback. In those times, you just have to wait them out. They aren’t as bad as they once were, and neither are the nightmares, but they still come and go as they please. You don’t think they’ll ever go away.

And no, these past few years weren’t without their share of problems. You spiraled for a while. You fought with Jake over silly, unimportant things, but you always made up before things went too far.

The years weren’t entirely cruel to you, though. You’ve been married and stayed married for five years, and you’ve had Seb for one and a half of those. You started taking your medication again, and you got a pretty sweet engineering job. And you’ve got a house of your own, close enough to Bro’s that if you ever need an emergency babysitter he’s obligated to fill that role no matter what, but not close enough that Jake has to live in his in-laws’ back yard.

You’re proud of yourself, yeah. You’re not bragging, but you did overcome a lot. Not on your own, though. Definitely not. But in the end, you guess it doesn’t matter who’s responsible, because you’re finally happy. You don’t feel like there’s a huge weight on your shoulders anymore, or like you’re dead inside.

You’re finally able to smile, and really, that was all you ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, kids. That's the fic. I'd like to thank you all for all your kind reviews, because really, that's what kept me writing. I was making you guys laugh and cry and smile, and just the fact that my had any kind of impact on your lives in any way makes me happy when nothing else can. So to all the people who commented on my work, thank you. I can't say that enough.
> 
> Remember back in All the Pretty Horses, when I promised a happy ending for all involved? I did mean ALL involved. Even you guys, I hope.
> 
> Don't forget about me completely; I have a few more ideas for fics in the near future if you're interested. Til then, I want you to remember that if you're reading this, no matter what, I automatically love you. 
> 
> -Mikes


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